Beyond the Vault
by Praelias
Summary: Margaret Fox craves revenge on her former Overseer, William Hayes, who's fled to Capital Wasteland. She seeks out a mercenary from the area named MacCready, who she hopes can help her navigate the foreign territory. During their travels, she learns of his troubles with the Gunners and his son, and helps him with both - all while fleeing the Institute, who's after Margaret's head.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

Welcome to Beyond the Vault!

I hope y'all enjoy the story, and I'd like to give a huge thanks to my beta, Pazlet! She's been a ton of help and the story is a lot better now than it was before she looked it all over. If you're interested in reading her work, it's on here and Ao3 and it's called Crossfire. We're currently working through the early chapters here, so if there are small indescrepencies, know that we're aware and we're working on it!

Also, reviews are welcome! I'm always looking for where I can improve so if you see anything, feel free to let me know :)

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Goodneighbor was the same as ever - the stench of urine and trash hung thick in the air, and a lack of light left the alleyways dark. Shops had closed at sunset, but people still roamed the town despite the late hour, many in search of chems. The ground was damp from rain earlier in the day, and the temperature had dropped low enough to ensure that there'd be ice on the concrete by morning.

Margaret Fox had returned to town with the intent of hiring a man named MacCready, who she'd heard had set up shop in the Third Rail. Supposedly, he was one of the best shots in the Commonwealth.

She wore her usual black duster, but due to the cold, she had it zipped. It stayed that way even as she entered the bar; though theher pistol and the knife on her thigh were both covered by it, she doubted she'd need either of them. Goodneighbor wasn't a good place place to pick a fight, and anyone who had even a sliver of sense knew that.

Smoke danced in the air, and the smell was so strong that Margo had to cover her nose with the beige scarf she kept around her neck. As she padded toward the bar, the sound of Whitechapel Charlie's laughter drifted to her ears. "Welcome back, Margo," he greeted. "I see you still can't handle a little smoke."

"This isn't a little smoke, Charlie," she shot back. "It's a goddamn cloud."

"Nobody else seems to have a problem with it." As they spoke, he poured a glass of bourbon, then slid it across the counter to her. "Maybe you need to stay here a while and get used to it."

She smiled under the scarf and passed him a few caps, then plucked the bourbon off the bar. "Nice try, but you're not getting more of my money."

He scoffed. "You're so greedy. What brings you back tonight?"

"Talking me up isn't going to work either," she laughed. "But since you'll find out anyways, I'm here for someone named MacCready. You know anything about him?"

"Sure. He's been slumming it in my bar for weeks now. Supposed to be a great shot, but he's got a real lousy attitude."

She let out a low hum as she absentmindedly examined the liquid in her glass. "That's the same thing I've been hearing about him. Sounds like he's exactly what I need." Her eyes flicked to the robot as she straightened. "Thanks, Charlie. I might be back for another glass later."

He scoffed. "I won't hold my breath."

Margo flashed him a smile, then turned her attention to the VIP room. She breathed a sigh, took a moment to gather her thoughts, and sashayed toward the doorway, where she found her quarry.

MacCready sat in a plush red chair, sipping on a bottle of alcohol; his gaze shifted to the woman as she entered, prompting him to set the drink down and sigh. "Look lady, if you're preaching about the Atom or looking for a friend, you've got the wrong guy." He paused briefly to look her over and quirked a brow. "If you need a hired gun though, maybe we can talk."

"Then I guess we can talk," she replied, taking a seat across from him. "What's your price?"

"Two fifty," he stated. "Up front, and non-negotiable."

"Jeez," Margo muttered, shaking her head and crossing her legs. "You really lowball yourself. Two hundred fifty caps for a man who claims to be the best shot in the Commonwealth?" She raised a brow. "I came in ready to offer two hundred upfront, plus a salary and a share of the loot."

MacCready's eyes widened, and he leaned forward in his seat. "W-well, hold on a minute. I'm not just gonna turn an offer like that down."

She shook her head again. "Oh, no, you've already set a price. Why would I pay more?" She paused and gave him a smirk - watchinged him squirm and struggle to come up with a reply - then spoke again., "I'm kidding. My offer still stands." She paused to rub a spot on the back of her neck, the pressure almost creatingdrawing little circles on her skin. "You should probably know that the job I have is pretty dangerouss though, so if you need to, you can back out at any time."

He breathed a sigh of relief, then scoffed at her last statement. "Believe me, I doubt I'll ditch a salary." The mercenary paused to take a drink of his whiskey. "That said, I'm gonna need more details before I actually agree to take the job."

She nodded and tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. "That's fair. What-"

A low voice from behind cut her short, and Margo jerked at the interruption. "Well," the stranger said, "can't say I'm surprised to find you in a dump like this, MacCready."

She scowled and shifted her gaze from MacCready to a pair of men who'd entered. Each sported both a Gunner uniform and a tattoo on their forehead, which she'd heard were their blood types. She hadn't the faintest idea as to how the group determined information like thatsuch information, but assumed they had'd come across some old medical journals.

MacCready eyed Margo for a moment, then sighed and got to his feet, turning his attention to the Gunners. "I was wondering how long it'd take your bloodhounds to track me down, Winlock. It's been almost three months; don't tell me you're getting rusty," he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. "Should we take this outside?"

She glanced between the two before unzipping her jacket, revealing a white crop top and black shorts, and rested her hand near her pistol. The intruders obviously weren't friends, and she wanted to be ready to step in if things turned sour.

"It ain't like that," the Gunner - Winlock, apparently - said. "I'm just here to deliver a message."

MacCready crossed his arms. "In case you forgot, I left the Gunners. For good."

"Yeah, I heard, but you're still taking jobs in the Commonwealth. That isn't going to work for us."

"I don't take orders from you," MacCready quipped, "not anymore. So, why don't you take your girlfriend and walk out of here while you still can?"

The second Gunner gaped for a moment before sputtering, "What?! Winlock, tell me we don't have to listen to this shit!"

Winlock scowled, and clenched his fists. "The only reason we haven't filled you with bullets is because we don't want a war with Goodneighbor," he sneered. "See, we respect other people's boundaries; we know how to play the game. It's something you never learned."

"For someone who claims to respect boundaries," Margo chimed in, "you sure are rude, interrupting us like this." She got to her feet and moved to stand next to MacCready, who gave her a glance but remained silent. "I suggest you do what he said; grab your lady friend, and get the hell out."

The man gave a harsh laugh. "Listen here, you little bitch-"

She scoffed and drew her pistol, pointing it right between the Gunner's eyes. The man was over a foot taller than her, and outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds, but she could never rely on her appearance to intimidate anyone. Instead, she relied on her gaze to unnerve people; it was cold. Detached.

MacCready took notice of it; her eyes were a bright green, with brown splotches throughout the irises, but they were certainly the eyes of a killer. He'd seen the look before, as had Winlock and Barnes, and she seemed like a completely different woman than the one he'd been speaking to moments earlier.

"I'll tell you one more time," she muttered, her voice just as cold and hard as her eyes, "Get the hell out of here, Winlock, before I paint the walls with your goddamn brains. You delivered your message."

Winlock had fallen silent the second he realized he had a gun in his face, and slowly raised his hands. "Fine," he growled, "we'll leave, alright?" His gaze flicked to the other Gunner, then he lowered his hands just as slowly as he'd raised them, and the two carefully - and quietly - made their way out.

MacCready whirled on her as soon as they were out of sight. "Are you fuc- freakin' crazy?!"

Margo blinked in surprise and looked to MacCready as she lowered and holstered her gun again. "What?"

"You just pulled a gun and threatened a Gunner - in Goodneighbor!" He exclaimed. "If anyone had seen you, there'd have been he-" the man paused, huffed, then continued, "there'd have been problems!"

"We're in the VIP room," Margo said. "Nobody can see us from out there. It's fine." She plopped back down into her chair. "So, where were we?"

MacCready gaped at the woman – and her callousness – for a moment, then let out another frustrated sighhuff and plopped back down in his seat. Regardless of her recklessness, she was right; nobody could've seen her from outside. "Tell me about the salary."

"Two hundred caps up front," she stated, "and a hundred a week, plus half of any loot we come across."

He let out a low whistle, only briefly wondering how she had that kind of money. "Well, you've definitely got my interest. What's the job you wanted to hire me for?"

This time, she hesitated before speaking. "I'm out for revenge."

His brows knitted together. "That it? Because that pause tells me there's more going on than what you want me to think."

Margo paused again before breathing a sigh. "That's it."

He raised a brow and quelled his suspicion for the moment. "So, what do you need me for? And what's so dangerous about the job that you want me to be able to leave whenever I want? Just find him, kill him, and be done with it."

"I'd rather not get into details with a stranger," she replied, then arched a brow in return. "Does it really matter? It's not like you can't leave, and you've surely had a few clients who wanted to have some level of anonymity like this."

He eyed her, then breathed a sigh. He couldn't afford to lose out on that many caps. "I guess you're right."

"I know I am." She stood and zipped her jacket again, throwing him a glance as she moved toward the door. "In that case, we leave tomorrow morning."

It had been months since MacCready had been on the road; until this woman had shown up, nobody would touch him. Not after finding out he used to run with the Gunners.

Fortunately for him, she was quiet and alert. They'd come upon a group of raiders, but she'd changed their course before even he had known they were there and they had avoided the raidersm altogether. He found it quite strange to be traveling with someone who actually knew what they were doingtraveling with someone competent odd, but refreshing – even if he couldn't figure out how she'd known raiders were there.

"So," he began after a few hours of walking in silence, "you got a name, boss?"

"Margaret," she answered, almost absentmindedly, "but my friends call me Margo."

"Gotcha. I'll stick with calling you boss."

She laughed a bit. "Why'd you ask my name if you didn't want to use it? We might be traveling together for a while, MacCready, so just call me Margoby my name." The woman pursed her bright red lips and stuffed her hands in her pockets. "Hey, are you from the Commonwealth?"

MacCready let out a sigh. "Are we straying into small talk territory?" He continued walking beside Margo, toying with the hem of his sleeve as they spoke. He didn't like the direction the conversation was going, but answered nonetheless. "No, I'm not. I grew up in the Capital Wasteland."

The woman fell silent for a moment, and he watched as her brows knitted together. "Capital Wasteland?" She paused to look around. "Isn't that north of here?"

He blinked in surprise and stopped as well, looking to his companion. "What? No, it's southwest. Straight down the coast."

"Oh!" Margo flashed him a sheepish grin. "Okay. So, Capital as in D.C. That makes sense." She resumed walking, waving a hand as if to brush away her mistake. "I don't hear about it much, sorry. What brings you out to the Commonwealth, then? Isn't D.C. like a two week trip from here?"

"Work," he lied. MacCready's eyes flicked to her. She was moving toward topics he didn't like talking about, even with friends. Determined not to get into them with a stranger, he decided to change the topic – rather drastically.

"Are you a vault dweller?"

Margo stopped. She didn't pause; she'd completely stopped moving, and it was clear that the question had caught her off guard. Judging by the haunted expression on her face, whatever happened with her vault wasn't good – when did a vault ever have a happy ending, though? – and he felt a pang of guilt.

She looked up to him, wary and shaken. "How'd you know?"

The guilt didn't subside, but he continued as if he had no remorse. "I met one as a kid, back in Capital Wasteland. He spoke a lot better than most people who'd grown up in the area, and he carried himself differently. He was pale, too - at least, he was lighter than normal - and he barely had any scars. You're the same. Most people out here end up pretty rough." MacCready continued walking, and contrary to what his mind told him he should say, he tried to offer some semblance of an apology. "I didn't realize it ended badly; I wasn't trying to bring up bad memories."

"You couldn't have known," she muttered. From there, she trailed behind him.

He had known, though. It wasn't hard to figure out. Most vaults seemed to have screwed up experiments, or bloody ends. The only one he knew that wasn't something out of a nightmare was Vault 81, which housed sane dwellers and occasionally made trades with people from the Commonwealth. Regardless, his question had gotten her to stop asking about him, which is what he'd initially wanted.

Margo remained silent for a long while. She continued walking, and the two had almost no problems until she stopped in a little neighborhood with a water tower at the end of the street. "This place reminds me of Sanctuary."

"Yeah?" He replied, scanning the area. She was right; some of the houses were almost identical to those in Sanctuary. "You thinking of stopping for the night? This seems like a good place, and I don't know if we'll come across anything better before it gets dark."

"Aw, are you scared of the dark, MacCready?" She smirked.

"Screw you," he spat, crossing his arms. "I'm not scared of the dark."

Much to his relief, Margo didn't continue to pick at him. He suspected that she'd figured out that he was, in fact, scared of the dark, but grateful that she didn't push the issue. Instead, he watched as she gestured toward a house.

"How's that one look?" She asked.

He shifted his gaze to the house, a scowl still resting on his face. "Not bad," he muttered. It was a little yellow house, and it probably had two or three bedrooms, based on the size. "We should probably get settled in. I don't like standing out in the open like this."

"Neither do I."

Once inside, Margo set her bag on the dining table. The living area was open, with a large kitchen and breakfast nook. The living room had a couch and loveseat, and an old TV. A table by the window had a number of books, along with a radio. Despite the walls being in decent enough shape to make the house look like it wasn't falling in, upon entering she was able to see several holes in the roof. "How are we doing sleeping arrangements?" She asked.

He furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, are we each taking a bedroom? Sharing one? Are we just crashing in the living room? Who's taking first watch?"

He blinked. "Uh, usually the bedrooms depend on my client, and we usually just sleep?"

"You don't have issues with anyone attacking you at night?" Her brows knitted together.

"You do?"

"Every once in a while," she muttered. "But if you don't think it'll be an issue, then it doesn't really matter. You've been doing this longer than I have." Margo let out a sigh before rummaging through her bag. "How much do you eat?"

"What?"

She paused and looked to him, raising a brow. "It's not a hard question."

MacCready's brows knitted in confusion, but he shrugged. "I dunno, a normal amount, I guess?"

"A normal amount for me is a lot to everyone else," she stated. "But I'll guesstimate. Instamash?"

"Depends. Do you know how to make it right?"

She paused again. "Are you picky?"

He blinked. "You don't know how to cook, do you?" The man let out a sigh and made his way over to Margo; he removed his hat and coat and laid them on the back of a chair, then took the box of instamash from her bag that she'd been planning to cook. "I'll do it."

Margo offered him a small, shy smile, but it didn't reach her eyes; her thoughts, apparently, were still occupied by her vault. She watched MacCready make his way to the kitchen; there was an old portable burner on the counter that still worked, and once he'd set to cooking, she made her way to one of the bedrooms.

As she was laying out her bedroll, thunder began to roll outside. Fortunately, the room seemed to be mostly intact; there were no large holes in the roof or walls, and a blanket hung on the window. It was old and tattered and falling down, and most definitely not a recent addition to the room, but it'd keep most of the rain from coming in given that the glass was gone. After laying out the bedroll, Margo removed her duster and rolled it up, then set it down to be used as a pillow. She slipped her boots off as well before making her way back out to the living area, noting that the second bedroom wasn't in nearly as good condition as the one she'd laid claim to.

"Claimed a bedroom?" MacCready inquired, keeping his eyes on the food.

"Yeah. There's a blanket over the window and it doesn't look like there are any big holes for the rain to come in. If you need a dry spot, you're welcome to lay in there."

"I'll take the living room or the other bedroom," he stated. "It's fine; I'm not gonna intrude."

"It looks like there are holes in the roof all over the place. The one I set up in seems to be in the best condition." She let out a sigh and plopped down on the couch. "I'm not gonna make you share a room with me, but the door's open if you decide you don't want to be wet."

"Doubt I'll take you up on the offer, but thanks, I guess." He let out a sigh, then plopped a scoop of the instamash into a bowl he'd found in the cabinet. "Food's done."

The two ate in silence. Margo had seemed to realize that MacCready wasn't one for conversation, so she hadn't said anything after thanking him for the food. That, or his question about her being a vault dweller was still bugging her. She made her way to the bedroom after eating - neither of them bothered to clean the dishes - and that left MacCready alone in the living room.

He wasn't sure how he felt about traveling with another vault dweller. The last one he'd met, back in Little Lamplight, had been involved with a lot of crap with the Brotherhood of Steel and the Enclave, and god knows what else. There had been two more out west, supposedly, but he couldn't be sure whether they were legends or real people. Still, time and time again, vault dwellers got themselves and their friends into lethal situations.

Had he unwittingly signed up for that as well?


	2. Chapter 2

The storm outside had left MacCready with no real option but to hole up in Margo's room. He was glad she'd offered, but she made it nearly impossible to sleep; no words left her mouth, but many, many grunts and moans and odd noises came from her sleeping figure. Every time he'd started to drift off, she let out a particularly loud noise that kept him from doing so.

If she weren't paying him, he would've strangled her.

Instead, he breathed a sigh and lit a lantern he'd found in one of the other rooms. Fortunately, it still had enough oil in it to burn at least a few hours. As he laid down, he heard Margo groan again, though it was followed by words this time.

"Why are you lighting that?" She asked groggily, raising a hand to shield her face from the dim light. "It's too bright."

MacCready sighed and looked to her. "It's too dark without it. I like being able to see when I wake up."

She eyed him for a moment, then breathed a sigh and laid down with her back to him. "Fine, but will you at least sleep between me and it so it's not as bright?"

He laid back and closed his eyes, running his thumb over the bullets in the band of his hat. "Sure."

Eventually, Margo did stay quiet long enough for him to get some sleep. It was dreamless - not the most restful, but just enough to curb his exhaustion - but he was grateful for the calmness of the night when he slowly roused awake a few hours later. He yawned as he sat up, pushing a hand through his hair as he blearily took in his surroundings.

It was then that he noticed that Margo, along with her things, were gone.

He scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over them as he rushed out of the living room. Did she abandon him? He pushed the thought aside as he stumbled to a stop at the kitchen. Up on the counter was her stuff, and he trailed his gaze down to the floor.

There, hunched on the floor with her head in her hands, was Margo.

MacCready watched her for several moments, unsure how to deal with her. She was still a stranger to him – and he'd never been good with dealing with emotions, whether they were his own or someone else's. He almost walked back to the bedroom, decidedly content with the knowledge that she hadn't left him, and he suspected he could get away with it considering she had yet to notice him.

Guilt wasn't something he wanted to deal with though, so instead, he breathed a sigh and sauntered over to the woman, looking down at her. "Everything okay, boss?"

Margo's head jerked up to look at him. Her eyes were red and wet, and he'd obviously caught her off guard. The two stared at each other for several moments before Margo scrambled to her feet, quickly wiping her tears and composing herself. She met his gaze again, and with the exception of red, puffy eyes, she was back to the confident woman he'd met the night before. "Morning, MacCready," she said. Her voice was steady and even, and the shift in her demeanor led him to believe she'd had a lot of practice hiding her emotions. "Sleep well?"

He crossed his arms. "Once you shut up, you mean?" He kept his eyes on her. "Yeah."

"Sorry. Nightmares." She sighed and rummaged through her bag and pulled out a few strips of jerky. "Ready to head out?"

"No, actually. We gotta talk." He plopped down on the couch and gestured for her to sit on the love seat nearby.

Margo raised a brow. Despite her confusion, she cautiously took a seat. "What's going on?"

"First, unless you can get that nightmare crap under control, we are not sharing a room again. Ever."

"Okay," she muttered. "That's reasonable. But I'm guessing this is about more than nightmares."

"Yeah. Whatever you're upset about, is it something that's going to get us in trouble?" He crossed his arms. "Look, I don't usually ask questions, but you said this job was dangerous. More so than the typical job, and you made it clear that I could leave if I needed to." He paused to sigh. "You were distracted all afternoon yesterday, and you were crying not even five minutes ago. If you're distracted today, and we run into something, you can't be-"

"I don't need a lecture!" Margo's eyes had hardened with her outburst, but they weren't nearly as cold as they had been when she'd threatened Winlock. "I know how to compartmentalize, MacCready."

He blinked, taken aback by her temper, then scoffed. "Yeah, well, based on yesterday nobody would've guessed that," he stated. He glowered for several moments before getting to his feet. "That was all. I'm ready when you are."

Margo stood as well, and MacCready watched her for a few more seconds before grabbing his bag. Her face had remained hard, almost angry as she gathered her things, but her eyes were distant; beyond her frustration, he couldn't tell what was going through her head.

The pair resumed their trek, heading north, and after several hours, MacCready realized they were nearing Taffington Boathouse and Med-Tek. As they walked, he slipped a hand into his pocket to feel for Sinclair's codes, momentarily concerned that they'd somehow vanished. He needed to get into the facility, but there was no way that Margo would know that - which meant she was after something else in the area. Brows furrowed, he cleared his throat. "Where are we going?"

She stayed silent for several moments. Just as he'd started to think Margo hadn't heard him, she muttered, "Malden Middle School."

"What?" He looked to her. "Why a middle school? There's not gonna be anything there."

She let out a sigh and looked to MacCready in return. "Please, don't ask me a lot of questions on this one. I just need to look for something. You'll see when we get there."

He watched her for a moment before relenting, huffing, and looking back to the road in front of them. "Fine."

Another ten minutes of walking brought them to a little town. There was a bookstore, a hospital, an old coffee shop, and down the street he could see the school Margo had wanted to visit. Half the building had crumbled, and they'd have to climb over a large pile of debris to even get inside.

He was right; there was no way she'd find anything in there.

A gasp from Margo drew his attention, and his brows knitted together when he saw her wide eyes and parted lips. A moment later, she was hauling him into an alley and crouching behind a dumpster. The second they were out of sight, he spotted a synth sprint past the end of the alley, followed by the mutant it was shooting at.

"Shit," she breathed as they passed. Her eyes flicked to MacCready, shock and dread battling for dominance over her face. "MacCready, this is bad."

He glanced toward the end of the alley again, pulling his rifle off his shoulders. If they were spotted, he needed to be ready to shoot. "Maybe I'm missing something here," he muttered, "but I'm not understanding why this is so bad. Synths and mutants aren't exactly abnormal out here, and we still have time to run."

"We can't run," she snapped. A roar from one of the mutants caught her attention for a moment, followed by the sound of one of the Institute's guns, but she quickly looked back to MacCready. "We have to get into the school before those synths do."

MacCready raised a brow. "What makes you think that's what they're here for? If you're right, we'll be stuck down there when they find their way inside." That should've been obvious, as far as he was concerned. Margo had obviously been in fights before, enough so that she was comfortable putting a gun in Winlock's face. She should've known the dangers – but for reasons he couldn't fathom, she seemed set on interfering.

The sound of fighting continued to echo down the alley, continuously distracting Margo. "MacCready," she hissed, "the Institute wants research in there! It'll be bad if they get it. We have to stop them." She paused to run her fingers through her hair.

"The Institute?" He blinked and glanced toward the alley again. "Margo, what kind of shi- crap are you mixed up in?"

"Crap that's dangerous enough for me to let you leave whenever you want," she muttered, reiterating what she'd told him in Goodneighbor. "Shit," she breathed, rummaging through her pockets. "Okay, um, you find a spot to cover me." She paused, passing him a small mirror. "Flash me when you're ready. I'm going to run down to the school once they knock each other's numbers down some. We'll work on taking out the rest of them."

MacCready's face creased with a frown. "Margo, that's insane. If you're hit by one of those mutants-"

She pressed a finger to his lips. "I'll be fine," she assured him. "I can outrun them."

He scoffed and lowered her hand. "Mutants might be big and dumb, but they're faster than us. I've seen people get caught by them more times than I'd like because they tried to outrun mutants."

Margo let out a frustrated huff before turning back to him, eyes shimmering with determination. "Will you just trust me, MacCready? I know what I'm doing here."

MacCready gaped. He barely knew this woman – and she was asking him to let her go through with an insane plan. For a moment he wondered if she was trying to get herself killed, but her gaze gave him pause. "There's no talking you out of this, is there?" He breathed a sigh and dragged a hand down his face. "Y'know what? Fine – but you better not get me killed. I'll flash you when I'm set up," he stated, setting out to find a decent vantage point.

The best one was atop Slocum's Joe's corporate HQ. He could see the synths and mutants down the street – five synths, three mutants – the school beyond them, and Margo's head peeking out from behind the dumpster. After a moment's hesitation, he crouched, positioned his rifle, pulled out the mirror, and gave Margo the signal.

She instantly took off toward the school, moving at a nearly inhuman speed – and it took him a moment to recover from the surprise and line up a shot on one of the mutants. Trigger pulled, and it hit the ground with a loud thud.

"Courser!" Margo cried.

His blood ran cold. He tore his eyes away from his crosshairs to try and find her amongst the fray. When he spotted her, she was pinned to the wall by the throat by the thing – but only a split second later she kicked the Courser in the gut, knocking him back from the sheer force of her kick.

Her strength baffled him just as much as her speed, but it satisfied him for the moment that she could take care of herself. MacCready shifted his attention back to the synths, who were moving toward the Courser, probably to back him up. The mutants were trailing behind, taking shots as if they were nothing.

MacCready breathed a sigh. If he started with the synths, that'd leave Margo fighting a Courser and two mutants. One hit from a mutant could knock her out of the fight, maybe even kill her. If he took the mutants down, on the other hand, she'd be up against five synths and a Courser – and all of them would be focusing on her. Whatever the option, he had to think quickly.

Mind made up, he clenched his jaw as picked his target. The synths had to go. The crosshairs were lined up to his new assailants and he held his breath as he steadied his hands.

He took the shot.

His target fell to the ground in a heap, the exposed circuitry sparked from MacCready's head shot. Without any hesitation he moved on to the next one. Aim, hold, fire. Rinse and repeat on to the third. The remaining two seemed to realize the mutants were a bigger threat with their diminished numbers, and took off down the street again – away from the Courser.

MacCready shifted his gaze back to Margo and the Courser, and immediately paled. She was beneath the Courser, and his hands were around her throat. She struggled against him, clawing at the Courser's wrists, and MacCready watched as the Courser lifted Margo's neck and slammed her head back against the pavement.

"Damn it," he hissed as he shouldered his rifle again. He wasn't quick enough, and she'd gotten hurt – maybe badly. It was hard to tell. But they were moving too much in their struggle. There's no way he could get a clean shot.

Another hit to her head, and it was enough to subdue her. The Courser took this moment to finish her off by strangling her, but it was enough for MacCready to line up his perfect shot.

MacCready took his chance - the kickback from his rifle shocked him back into breathing - and the Courser's head exploded in a read spray of viscera. Its body slumped limply onto Margo, and MacCready watched her momentarily as she fought to catch her breath again.

He spared a glance to the mutants – who'd dealt with the synths and were meandering back toward Margo – and quickly put bullets in their heads as well.

There was an eerie lull in the air. No more gunfire could be heard, but MacCready vigilantly scanned the area in case there were more threats nearby. Satisfied that there were none, he scrambled back down the fire escape he'd initially climbed up, and sprinted toward Margo. "Hey!" He bellowed, quickly hauling the Courser's corpse off of her and kneeling. "Margo! Are you alright?"

She stirred, and held out a hand to him without a word.

MacCready breathed a sigh and thanked god, or whatever, that she wasn't dead. He took her hand and helped her move into an upright position, but when he realized how badly she swayed he wrapped an arm around her waist. "Boss?"

She breathed a sigh and leaned into him. "What happened?"

He frowned. "Courser," he muttered. It was all that needed to be said, really. "You don't remember?"

Margo shook her head, wincing at the movement. "Last thing I remember is you leaving the alley."

"I think you've got a concussion," he mumbled. "Are you nauseous?"

"Very. I'm dizzy too, and my head's pounding."

He sighed and glanced around. "Definitely a concussion, then. We need to get inside somewhere. Can you walk?"

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

MacCready bit his lip. "Okay, well, we're not going into the school until you can manage on your own. Where else can we go around here?"

"Then there's a boathouse to the west," she explained. "There's someone there who can help."

MacCready gave a nod and wrapped Margo's arm around his shoulders, and his arm around her waist before beginning to move. Despite the fact that Taffington Boathouse was less than a few city blocks away, it felt like ages before the pair reached it; Margo staggered and stumbled every few steps, and MacCready quickly decided to just scoop her up and carry her. He set her down against a nearby tree, however, once they arrived. "I'm gonna go check and make sure your friend's still there," he said. "Never know if raiders showed up."

"She might shoot you," she warned. "Her name's Prim, when you see her."

"Noted."

He entered the boathouse with his rifle drawn and carefully surveyed each room. Furniture was strewn about, and there were a couple skeletons throughout the place. Overall, it wasn't somewhere he'd expect someone to want to hole up – which may have been the very reason this girl had chosen the boathouse.

He gave his immediate surroundings a quick once over before he decided to progress to the second floor. His foot brushed over one of the skeletons, the bones rattled against the rubble as he did so, and he made sure to move slowly in order not to make more unnecessary noise. The stairs creaked under his boots as he made his way up, knuckles white as he gripped onto his rifle as he vigilantly scanned the area ahead.

All clear. His jaw unclenched as he made a move to begin searching the rooms ahead.

A click to his left - metal on metal - and he halted his step when he realized it did not come from his own gun. He stiffly turned to the source of the sound, and he felt conflicted as to whether he should focus on the pistol aimed at his head, or to the eyes of the woman wielding it.

"Who the hell are you, and what's your business?" She demanded.

MacCready stopped, and slowly raised his hands. "My name's MacCready," he said, voice low in an effort not to antagonize her. "I'm working for a lady named Margaret Fox, and I'm looking for someone named Prim."

A beat of silence passed.

"Where's Margo?" she asked, her pistol still trained on him with an unwavering grip. This girl looked to be no more than twenty, with light brown hair and dark eyes; she, like Margo, had very few scars – but she was tanned, meaning she'd probably grown up in one of the safer settlements rather than a vault with no sunlight.

"Outside," he answered.

"Go get her."

The mercenary nodded before he reversed down the stairs, eyes transfixed upon her in order not to turn his back to her gun. Only when he reached the bottom did he release his breath, and with hurried strides he returned to where he last left Margo., She was in exactly the same position as before, and she gave him an expectant look as he carefully knelt down next to her.

"So," he began, "You wanna walk, or do you want me to carry you?"

Margo began to pull herself up using the tree she'd been leaning against. "Just make sure I don't fall?"

By the time the pair had made it back inside, the woman MacCready had spoken with was downstairs in the living room. She was slightly taller than Margo, but a similar weight, and wore a leather jacket with a white shirt, jeans, and boots. She glanced up to the pair and gestured to the couch, which MacCready helped Margo get to.

"What happened?" Prim asked.

"We uh, got into a fight over by the school. Margo was attacked by a Courser," MacCready explained. "We're pretty sure she's got a concussion."

"Symptoms?" The woman raised a brow.

"Dizziness, nausea, headache." Margo muttered. "I'm fine, Prim; I just need to rest."

Prim let out a sigh. "Bull. I was going to head back to Davenport tomorrow, but I guess I can stay 'til you're recovered."

"Davenport?" MacCready's brows knitted together. "Isn't that a settlement in the Midwest?"

"It is."

"You're an awful long way from home, then."

"I like to travel." Her gaze shifted to Margo. "What were you doing near the school? Don't tell me it was what I think you were doing."

"That depends on what you think we were there for, Prim," Margo replied.

Prim rolled her eyes and looked back to MacCready. "Can I have a word with her, in private? You can go make yourself at home upstairs or something."

The man raised a brow and looked to Margo, silently asking if she was fine to be left alone with this woman. He didn't know her, and while he didn't trust Margo yet, he definitely didn't trust Prim.

A terse nod from Margo was sign enough for his dismissal, so with a heavy sigh he made his way upstairs.

Her head was killing her, but Margo did her best not to let it show as she watched MacCready disappear upstairs. Once satisfied that he was out of earshot, she turned to Prim and cocked a brow. "You wanted to talk?"

Prim crossed her arms. "You were going to the vault, weren't you?"

"I need to find Hayes," she said simply.

"Margo," she said, taking a seat next to her, "it's been five years. He could be all the way in New Vegas by now."

"I don't think he is though, Prim. He's eighty three by now. He wouldn't be able to survive a journey that long."

"So, what, you're just going to blindly search?"

"That's why I want to go back to the vault. The Institute probably knows what went on by now, and that they could use the information there, which would explain the synths outside the vault. They might have even helped Hayes after the revolt."

Prim sighed. "So you think he's with The Institute."

"It would explain why they've sent synths after me in the past, even though there haven't been any lately. Hayes could want revenge on me, since I helped James and Rohit plan the revolt. I gave them all kinds of information on the staff, the layout of the vault, extra weapons."

"I'm not saying he doesn't have a motive," she began, "but I don't think the Institute would waste that many resources on one person. Not without a good reason."

"Then maybe they're after me because I have Virion F19 and they think they can use me to recreate it. I don't know." Margo sighed. "Look, even if he's not with them, I think he had an escape plan laid out before the revolt. I have to find it, and then I'll have a solid lead on where to find him."

"What if he's not in the Commonwealth anymore?"

"Then Capital Wasteland, New New York, and Davenport become solid options. They're like, the three closest inhabited areas."

"Fair enough." Prim shifted in her seat and propped her chin in her hand. "Do you think that hired killer is gonna follow you there though? I've heard his name before; wasn't he a Gunner?"

"He's not a hired killer," Margo huffed. "And yes, he was a Gunner. I looked into MacCready before I even went to Goodneighbor. He's one hell of a gun to have at your back, and he has a good reputation when it comes to his jobs." The woman paused, then sighed. "To answer your question, I told him he could bail if he needed to, and I'm giving him a salary until he does. He's more than welcome to stay in the Commonwealth if he needs to."

"What are you going to do if he does?"

She paused again. "I dunno. I could always hire someone else, I guess, but I'd have to be really careful about who. I don't think I'd pay them a salary either; I only offered it to MacCready because of how good he is."

Prim pursed her lips and gave a small nod. "Well, hopefully you won't have to find someone else."

Margo nodded, rubbing a spot on her neck as she continued to speak. "If he hadn't been there, I'd be dead; that Courser had me pinned and his hands around my throat." She pulled the collar of her duster down enough to show her neck; large, purple and brown hand shaped bruises were forming on her skin.

"Yikes," she muttered, leaning in to get a closer look. "Well, I'm glad you're okay. That could've been really bad." She paused, then stood and stretched. "I gotta get something to eat. I'll make extra for you guys."

Margo fell silent once Prim stepped out and laid her head on the back of the couch, allowing her eyes to fall shut.

"You know," MacCready said, "for wanting some privacy, you two sure do talk loud." He'd returned, and was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"For not being big on conversation, you sure do talk a lot," Margo quipped.

"Well, when you hear a bunch of sh- crap you don't understand, it makes you curious." He plopped down in a nearby chair. "So, you think this Hayes guy isn't in the Commonwealth anymore?"

"I don't know. He might be, he might not; we don't know anything yet, and we won't until we get into the vault." She opened her eyes to look to the sniper. "How much did you hear?"

"Everything. Sound carries in here." He fell silent for a moment before looking to Margo. "Hey, thanks for that, by the way."

The woman blinked in surprise. "For what?"

"Taking up for me when she said I was a hired killer. Not many would bother."

Margo smiled and closed her eyes again. "Well, thanks for saving my ass back there. Not many people would do that, either."

He smiled and shook his head. "Just doing my job. You want help to a bed? I hear if you can hold a conversation with a concussion, it's safe to sleep, and that's exactly what I'd wanna do in your shoes."

"Please."


	3. Chapter 3

2282

_Margo coughed between retches; she'd been vomiting for days. The entirety of her body ached, and it felt like she'd let a bunch of classmates kick her for hours. Her head pounded, she could barely breathe, and she was covered in sweat and blue boils._

"_Overseer," a man said, "which disease did you say this was?"_

"_The New Plague," replied a woman. "It's what the Pan-Immunity Virion was developed for, and the military turned that into FEV when they realized its side effects made people aggressive." She paused to purse her lips. "Doctor Hayes, do you think she'll survive?"_

"_I did, when your predecessor injected it into me." His gaze shifted to the subject, which had ceased puking and now leaned against a wall. "It was hell, but I survived. This version of P.E.V. should be able to fight it off."_

* * *

2287

MacCready leaned against the dock railing, watching the water, enjoying a drink, and smoking a cigarette. After a week in the boathouse with Margo and Prim, he wanted nothing more than to be on the road again; being holed up with two women might have been nice for another man, but being with two people in one house only made him feel smothered. MacCready needed his space, and he didn't like being confined to a bedroom for that.

"MacCready?"

He glanced in the direction of Margo's voice, but didn't turn to face her. "What?"

"You wanna head out soon?" The woman stepped up next to him. She didn't touch him, or look in his direction, but instead focused on the water as she nibbled on one of her pieces of jerky.

"I've been ready to leave for days." He grumbled.

"Yeah, well, I couldn't exactly help that." She plucked the cigarette from his hands, took a drag of it, then flicked it into the water. "You're gonna destroy your lungs, y'know."

A scowl settled onto his face as she did so. "You think I give a damn?"

"I don't think you want to die sick and frail."

He scoffed and looked back to the water. "You don't know the first thing about me, lady."

"I'd be surprised if anyone knew much about you at all, MacCready," she muttered. "You seem like the type to keep everyone at a distance."

"I'm not the only one." He huffed. "Are we leaving, or not?"

She rolled her eyes, but didn't argue further. "I'm gonna pack up, and then we can head out." Without waiting for a response, she made her way back inside and up to her room.

Primrose was at Margo's door when she got to the second floor, concern written on her face. "You sure you don't want me to come with you for this?" She asked.

She sighed and walked past Prim and into her room, starting to gathering her things. "I'll be fine. You don't need to come."

"Margo, I know you're capable and all, but you haven't been there in five years. Are you _sure_ you're ready to go back and revisit everything they did to you?"

She stayed quiet for a few moments before muttering, "I've accepted what happened, Prim."

"That doesn't-"

"Prim!" Margo snapped, shooting the girl a hard glare. She softened after a moment and let out a sigh. "I'm fine. I don't need a babysitter."

"No," she agreed, unfazed by Margo's outburst, "but you need a friend." The woman raised a brow when Margo stayed silent, but shrugged. "If you say so, then. I just hope your hired gun-"

"MacCready," she corrected.

"Whatever. I just hope he can be the support you need when you do break down, since you're in denial here." She pushed herself off the wall and straightened. "I'm heading back to Davenport. You know how to get there, and you know you're welcome. If something happens and you need to send MacCready my way, I'll do my best to help."

"Thank you, Prim. Safe travels."

"You too," she replied as she grabbed her bag and made her way downstairs. MacCready had come in and was waiting in the living room for Margo, and he and Prim exchanged a glance. The woman paused, stared him down a moment, then walked out the door as if she'd decided against saying something that had come to mind.

Margo finished packing and made her way back downstairs a few minutes after. She forced a small smile when she saw MacCready. "Ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," he muttered as he got to his feet. The man downed the last of his alcohol, but it seemed he hadn't lit another cigarette. "So, you wanted to go to your vault?"

"Yeah. It's under the school we were trying to get to before," she stated. The woman paused, then sighed and looked to her companion. "MacCready, if you want to wait outside, you're welcome to."

He gave a shrug and started toward the door. "If there are a bunch of synths in there, you'll need backup."

"I doubt there will be, and I can handle myself in a fight." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I might also be an emotional wreck, and it's not in your job description to deal with that."

"We're going to your vault," he replied. "Anyone would freak out, especially if the crap they do is as fuc- messed up as the rumors say." He sighed and looked to the woman before him. "Look, I'm not saying I'm down to hear your whole, tragic life story, but if you have a breakdown, I can handle it. I'm not that much of a jerk."

She watched MacCready for a moment, debating briefly on forcing him to stay out of the vault, before nodding. "Thank you."

The two arrived at the school, which had neither synths nor mutants around this time. Margo led MacCready over the debris that had been the school's walls, then down a hall to a door resembling a jail cell. Much to her relief, it was still unlocked, as were the large wooden doors just down the stairs from it.

The doors opened up into a small cavern. A concrete walkway gave way to ground, and then metal stairs led into the vault. The door was still open, which meant that if the Institute had re-visited the site during the last week, they'd have had no trouble getting in.

Margo stopped at the stairs.

MacCready stood next to her, eyeing the door just as she was. "The sooner we get in there, the sooner we can get out." She hadn't spoken yet, but he knew she was hesitating. Mentally preparing herself. If he were in her shoes, he'd probably be doing the same thing.

She nodded, but didn't move. Not yet. Even after five years away from the vault, and knowing it was abandoned, Margo still struggled to stay in the present. She'd had flashbacks and woken in tears from nightmares in the past. Scientists still put her on edge, and any doctor wearing a lab coat had the same effect. For a while, she'd even turned to alcohol and chems to drown out the memories.

"Margo?"

Her eyes flicked to the mercenary, but she said nothing. She couldn't even if she'd wanted to because her throat was too tight to speak. Beyond that, her hands shook, and she was already being assaulted by waves of nausea. Despite that, the brunette took one last, steadying breath, then made her way up the steel stairs and through the vault door.

Trash littered the floor. Near the door controls inside, tiny metal squares lay in little pools of blood. Margo's eyes flicked to them and her hand went to a spot on the back of her neck, but she ignored them and went straight for an elevator.

MacCready's brows knitted together when she touched her neck, as he'd noticed she did that often, but he didn't question it and instead followed in silence. The elevator descended, and opened up to a series of red hallways with numerous boxes, tables, and suitcases scattered about.

"We think those suitcases belonged to the parents who signed their kids up for the vault," Margo said. "According to one of the terminals, when the bombs dropped the parents were separated from the kids and told they were going to orientation. They were really just killed."

He eyed the suitcases with distaste. Not because they were ugly, but because they served as reminders of what happened. "That's awful."

Frankly, MacCready had no desire to listen to her stories. He didn't want her unloading her trauma onto him, because it meant they'd probably form some kind of bond. That wasn't the kind of relationship he liked to have with his employers, but he suspected that talking about it helped her function in the situation, so he said nothing about it.

The atrium seemed to serve as a dining area. There was a small kitchen to the right, along with a locker room and bathrooms, and a cavern to the left with generators, a geo-dome, swings, and a see-saw. The atrium itself had numerous overturned tables, and many had bullet holes. MacCready guessed they'd served as barriers to hide behind during the children's escape.

Margo led him past the bathroom and kitchen, and into the locker room. At the end of the room was a door, and she led him through that followed by several more doors. They eventually came to one that required an access card, and she pulled two out of her bag.

"I thought you were part of the revolt," he said. "Where'd you get that?"

She glanced back to him. "I was part of the graduating class the year before the revolt. The staff team recruited me because I scored high on their tests, and I stole the access cards during the fighting."

"Oh." MacCready eyed her for a moment before noticing she was simply fidgeting with the card rather than opening the door. "What is it?"

"This is the Overseer's office," she explained.

He raised a brow. "So?"

"A friend's body is in there."

"Shi- crap," he muttered. The two remained silent for a moment before he spoke again. "I'll go in and move it, that way you don't have to see it." He wouldn't have wanted to see a friend's body – decayed or not – and frankly, in his mind, it was better than supporting her through a breakdown.

Margo simply passed him one of the access cards, then turned her back to the door.

MacCready gingerly took the card, waited for her to turn, then swiped it. He waited for the doors to open, then stepped through and let them close behind him. The body – now a skeleton – was immediately visible, given that it was in the middle of the floor, lying in a massive pool of blood. There were spatters on the wall, and a hole in the skull, and it was an easy assumption that the kid had been shot in the head – probably by the Overseer. He didn't even want to know what else they'd been subjected to in the vault.

"Jeez," MacCready muttered as he surveyed the room. His eyes settled on a bag in a nearby chair, and he snagged it to move the bones. Given that the cartilage had decayed, the pieces wouldn't stay together and he couldn't just pick the skeleton up. He made his way to the door on the right of the room once picking them all up, which opened to what looked like the Overseer's quarters; despite it not being used for five years, the space was clean, and nothing was out of place. Either the guy had come back regularly to clean it, or he'd had a serious case of OCD before the revolt.

After setting the bag on the bed, he closed the bedroom door and returned to Margo, who hadn't move. "You okay?"

She stayed still for another moment. MacCready opened his mouth to ask again, but she stopped him by turning and making her way into the room. He moved out of her way, and took a seat while she began searching through filing cabinets. Margo stayed quiet, but he could see that her hands were shaking, and she was deliberately avoiding looking at the blood on the wall and floor.

If he knew what to look for, or how this guy's mind worked, he'd have offered to help her look. Vaults creeped him out; the Gunners had used another as a base he'd been stationed at for a while, and he hated it. He got claustrophobic, and he hated to think about what might have happened before the original residents died. Still, he knew she hated being there even more than he did

Margo searched every drawer in the room, but upon finding nothing, she let out a frustrated sigh and slammed the last drawer shut. She moved to the desk, then, and took a moment to examine it. A few items sat to the left - a used stimpak, an empty ammo box, a few bobby pins - and to the right was a safe in one of the shelves. A terminal sat on top of the desk, toward the middle, and that's where she decided to start. Unfortunately, it contained nothing more than door controls, safe controls - presumably for the one just to her right - and vault operations. Nothing close to what she needed.

Unlocking the safe only gave her a little ammo, and the other items inside was junk. Her frustration increasing, Margo stood and began to pace behind the desk, her hands tangled in her short, wavy hair. Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she hadn't realized she'd gotten lightheaded until she'd begun pacing.

MacCready's brows knitted together with concern as he observed her. "Hey, why don't you sit down for a minute? Breathe, collect yourself gather your thoughts, y'know?"

That seemed to push her over the edge. "We don't _have_ a minute, MacCready," she snapped, her voice shaking. "Every second we waste because I can't figure out where he hid his plans is a second he gets farther away, or dies, or hurts someone else!"

"Right," he began, "well, I'm not the one you need to be pissed at. I'm trying to help." The man got to his feet and made his way over to her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and began to guide her to a chair. She jerked against him, but he simply tightened his grip and continued until she was seated. "A few minutes isn't going to make a big difference in finding him, but it is going to determine whether or not you have a breakdown in here. Just sit a minute. Breathe." His hands remained on her shoulders, both because he was worried she might try to get up early, and he thought she needed the supportive gesture.

She stayed quiet, and did as she was told. Margo hadn't realized how wound up she was, but she was glad MacCready had been paying attention. He was right; if she hadn't stopped and taken a minute, she would have had a meltdown.

Minutes passed. Margo continued to breathe, and MacCready kept a hand on her back to remind her he was there. He didn't enjoy comforting his employer, but he understood why she'd reacted the way she did. He couldn't begin to understand what she'd been subjected to growing up, and he knew better than to ask. Though he'd never admit it, he felt bad for her.

"I'm sorry," she eventually said. Her voice was level again, and no longer shaking.

"Don't be. Any sane person would get emotional in your place." He kept his hand on her back, not quite sure if she'd recovered. "You ready to finish up here?"

Margo gave a nod. "Yeah. He didn't hide anything here, but I think I know where to find it."

The pair stood outside yet another door, this one in the staff's residential wing of the vault. Margo entered without hesitation this time, and MacCready followed. The room sported two beds, two desks and dressers, one bookshelf, and had a bathroom attached. She made her way over to one of the dressers and rummaged for a moment before pulling out a black, turtleneck shirt, which she stuffed in her bag before moving to the desk on the opposite side of the room.

"What's with the shirt?" MacCready asked, a brow raised.

"It's mine," Margo replied as she shuffled through the papers on top of the desk. "I wanted it back. It's really comfortable."

He let out a small laugh and shook his head as he made his way over to the bed on Margo's side of the room. "A few minutes ago, you were on the verge of a meltdown. Now you're thinking about comfort items?"

"Now I know where to find what I need," she replied. "And, to be fair, the shirt _is_ really nice." Her hands moved to the drawers of the desk, rummaged for a few more moments, then she moved to search the other dresser. She paused after moving some things around in the top drawer, apparently having found what she needed.

"Margo?" MacCready stood and made his way over. "Did you find it?"

"I found it," she confirmed. "My roommate, Rochelle, she was working with Hayes." Margo passed a pamphlet to MacCready and let out a sigh, raking a hand through her hair. "I guess I was right not to tell her about the revolt after all, but this means we've got a long road ahead of us."

He turned the leaflet over in his hand, and the front gave him pause as his gaze shifted to meet Margo's eyes. "They went to D.C.?"


	4. Chapter 4

2287

A storm had moved in, and with it, a chill in the air. Margo had traded her crop top for the turtleneck from her vault, and MacCready sat on the couch in the boathouse's living room, wrapped in a blanket from his bedroom. His gaze was locked on the rain, watching it run down the remaining glass in the windows, and his thoughts were on one person. A little boy, barely four years old.

Margo had retreated to the kitchen to make something called hot chocolate. The concept baffled MacCready, given that any chocolate he'd ever seen had been baked in the sun for ages. It was hard and tasted as if it had spoiled, which wasn't a surprise given how long it had been laying around. His eyes flicked to her as she re-entered the room, and he quietly accepted the mug she held out to him. He set it on the table to let it cool, and looked back out the window for a few more moments. He eventually sighed and muttered, "I can't go to D.C."

She furrowed her brow as she took a seat. Like him, she'd set her mug aside to cool. "Why not?"

"I don't wanna get into the details," he croaked. "I just can't go."

She watched him for a moment before moving to sit next to him. It earned her a glare from him, but she stayed put. "MacCready, you can talk to me."

He scoffed. Despite her sitting next to him, he'd kept his eyes locked on the rain outside after glaring at her. "Like hell I can."

She sighed, then, and reached out to turn his chin toward her. "Mac," she said softly. "Talk to me. You were there for me in the vault, so it's my turn to do the same for you."

He paused when she turned his face, surprise on his face. Margo seemed like a decent enough person, but she also seemed set on her quest for revenge. If she knew what was going on, she'd probably bail on him and force him to handle it alone.

She also probably wasn't going to drop it.

"It's my son," he eventually croaked. "That's why I can't leave."

Margo blinked in surprise. "You have a son?"

MacCready nodded slowly. "His name's Duncan," he started. "He's sick, and I-I don't know what's wrong with him. He was out playing in the fields on our farm one day, and he just collapsed, a-and then he had this fever, and these blue boils, and he couldn't keep any food down, and-" He stopped then, his eyes filling with tears. He looked away and moved to wipe his eyes, but Margo caught his hand and turned his face back toward her so she could wipe the tears instead. Her eyes were full of empathy, which relieved him. The last thing he'd wanted was pity.

"How can I help?" she asked.

The question caught him off guard. He hadn't expected the empathy, and he certainly hadn't expected that kind of offer. "W-what?"

"Well, you're from D.C., so this obviously isn't home. I don't think the Commonwealth is where your son is either, so you're here for a reason. Is there a cure, or some kind of miracle doctor you're looking for?"

He quickly shook his head. "Every doctor I've gone to has been useless. They haven't even heard of the disease, but there's this guy named Sinclair. He had a friend who has-" he paused, then corrected himself, "had the same thing as Duncan. He didn't make it, but Sinclair found out there might be a cure in Med-Tek."

Margo's brows raised. "That's right down the street."

"And infested with ferals." He said. "We went to check it out before, but they pushed us back. Sinclair's friend died before we regrouped to try again, but he did give me the codes to get through security so I could go back for Duncan." He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. "Look, Margo, I have to get that cure before I can leave the Commonwealth, so I'm sorry, but I can't go to D.C. with you."

She shook her head. "No, Mac, don't apologize. Your kid's way more important than my retribution." The woman paused, then gave his leg a gentle nudge. "Do you want help at Med-Tek?"

MacCready furrowed his brow, but shook his head. "I can manage on my own. I don't need help."

"I asked if you wanted help," she said, "not if you needed it. If you my help then I'm there." She paused, then rubbed the spot on her neck. "Besides, as good of a shot as you are, you can't handle a building full of ferals alone."

He stared at her. There were very, _very_ few people in the wasteland who were willing to set aside their own problems for another's, and even fewer who were willing to put themselves in harm's way for someone else, especially someone they didn't know well. She'd been experimented on and abused for more than half her life, but she was willing to abandon her quest to kill the man responsible - just to help him find a cure for his kid.

"Mac?"

He realized he'd been staring and that he hadn't answered. The mercenary cleared his throat and gave a nod. "If it's not too much trouble, yeah, I'd like help."

"Okay. We'll go tomorrow, then." She offered him a small smile. "We might as well get it done while we're in the area, y'know?"

He nodded. "We can head to D.C. as soon as we're done, get the cure to Duncan, and then I can help you finish hunting down Hayes."

Margo nodded as well, then nodded to his mug. "You should drink before it gets cold."

MacCready plucked the mug off the table and took a sip, but as Margo moved back to her own seat, he spoke again. "Margo?" He waited for her eyes to flick to him, then furrowed his brow. "Why are you so willing to help?"

She paused, then cleared her throat and plucked her mug off the table. "I had a kid," she said, then added, "Look, I don't want to get into it. Let's just make sure your kid comes out of this okay."

He hesitated, but nodded. She was willing to help him get Duncan's cure, so the least he could do was not question what happened to her child.

The trek to Med-Tek was no more than half a mile. Another storm was moving in, and it was still cold outside, so Margo had kept her turtleneck on. She also seemed to be in a better mood than she had been before the vault, now that she knew where her search would take her next, but MacCready was jittery and anxious.

"Hey, before we get in there," he said, "you should know I don't do ferals."

Margo's brows knitted together and she lowered her jerky from her mouth. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he paused, then sighed. "Look, I don't really wanna get into it, but you know about Duncan so I guess it's not a big deal if I tell you this too." He took a moment to brace himself. Not only was he close to getting Duncan's cure, but he was about to tell her about his wife. With both of their lives at stake though, he thought Margo should know what she was getting into.

"Mac?"

He shook his head and pulled himself from his thoughts. "Sorry. I, um, had a wife. Lucy. Duncan's mom." His eyes flicked to his companion for a moment before he continued. "We were traveling, and we hunkered down in an old subway one night. We didn't know it was infested with ferals, so when the sun set-"

Margo winced, and put a hand on his arm. "You don't need to finish," she said. It wasn't hard to gather that ferals had killed Lucy. The woman gave his arm a squeeze before pulling back and slipping her hand into her pocket, while she used the other to eat. "I'll be up front, then, so you don't have to deal with them. You stay back and pick them off."

MacCready's brows furrowed. "Margo, you're gonna get hurt if you do that, and I'm the one who drug you out here."

"One," she began, "I can take a beating. Did you forget I'm a freak experiment?" A wry smile formed on her lips. "Two, I'm the one who offered to help. You aren't forcing me to do anything."

"I didn't forget," he huffed, "I just don't know what they did to you."

"We'll revisit my trauma another day." She moved to crouch behind an old car, being that Med-Tek was in sight. "For now, let's get this over with." Her eyes flicked to MacCready. "Are you okay to do this?"

He followed her behind the car and knelt next to her. The man took a steadying breath, then nodded. "Yeah, I think I'm good."

"Okay." She took her duffel bag off her shoulder, rummaged through it for a moment, then passed him a pistol, an extra clip, a few stimpaks, and a combat knife. "Here. I know you're supposed to hang back so you don't deal with them directly, but these will be useful if something goes wrong. And if I get hurt, do _not_ use a stimpak on me."

"What?" He blinked. "Margo, I can't handle a building full of ferals alone. If you're hurt then I need to be able to get you back up."

She pulled her hair into a ponytail - or, at least, what was long enough to fit in one. "I'm allergic to something in them, MacCready, the same way other people are allergic to morphine. They could kill me, so we'll just have to make sure I don't get hurt that bad."

"So what do I do if you're down?" he asked. His voice didn't shake, but his eyes were filled with fear as he watched a couple of the ghouls in the parking lot.

Margo let out a sigh and rested her hand on his shoulder. "Look at me."

He hesitated, but shifted his gaze to her.

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "Okay? There's nothing to worry about. The place is infested with ferals, yeah, but we're gonna deal with them and we're gonna get the cure for Duncan, and then we're gonna go straight to him. Alright?"

MacCready watched her for a moment, then nodded and pulled his rifle off his back. "Okay. Be careful, Margo."

She nodded and drew a shotgun, then made her way toward the parking lot. MacCready moved to the doorway of an old building, so nothing could sneak up behind him while he was shooting. It wouldn't have been an issue any other time, but he was paranoid and on edge, and he figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

She shot the first pair of ghouls without hesitation, which took care of them, but woke several more. MacCready sniped two of them, and by the time the remaining two got close enough to use a shotgun on, Margo dispatched them. She reloaded, and when neither of them saw any more ghouls, they moved to the doors. MacCready hesitated, but made his way inside after a steadying breath.

"Okay," he said. "Let's find the executive's terminal. According to Sinclair, it's the only way we can override the facility's lockdown."

Margo gave a nod and made her way past the reception desk, to one of the rooms off the entry area. Bodies of dead ferals littered the ground, probably from MacCready's last visit with Sinclair. While there were no more terminals in the area aside from the receptionist's, there were a ton of chems, which Margo began tossing into her bag.

MacCready scowled. "You use chems?"

"Of course not," she sneered. "But they sell for good money, and I figure we could use some caps."

He nodded in understanding and watched her, but didn't touch the chems. Margo paused when she picked up a syringe of psychobuff, eyed it for a moment, then slowly put it in her bag. It was only a brief pause, but it was enough to make MacCready almost certain she'd used it before.

After Margo looted the chems, the two made their way through a series of halls and rooms, taking ghouls down as they went. Margo hadn't been joking when she said she could take a beating; she was able to shove the ferals back with almost superhuman strength, and she was quick. Way quicker than MacCready expected, and after seeing her fight up close, he could see how she'd been able to hold her own against a Courser for as long as she did.

Eventually, they reached an office with what appeared to be a working terminal. Margo took care of one of the ghouls in the room, and MacCready handled the other before pointing to the desk. "Check the terminal on the desk over there," he said, followed by a muttered, "Sinclair's passcode better work, or we're screwed."

Margo gave a nod and quickly took a seat in front of the terminal. It was slow to boot, and each moment that passed was agonizing. Eventually, the welcome screen appeared, and Margo entered Sinclair's passcode. The device stalled when she hit enter, and MacCready held his breath as they waited. Terminals got buggy after two hundred years of sitting, so even if the passcode was correct, there was no guarantee the device would work properly.

Eventually, the terminal opened the welcome screen. MacCready's shoulders sagged in relief, and Margo shut off the lockdown with a grin.

"Thank god that worked," MacCready said. "Now let's go find the sub-level. That's where they should be storing the cure."

As they moved lower and lower, the ghouls became more and more numerous. They continued to fight their way through, but once they'd cleared out a room with holding cells and a small armory, Margo leaned against a wall and looked to MacCready as she rubbed the spot on the back of her neck. "If their numbers keep growing at this rate, I'm not going to be able to hold them off alone."

MacCready let out a sigh and looked out the windows of the room. "I know. This is bad. There are a lot more than I expected to find this far down." His eyes flicked to the woman, and his brows knitted together when he saw blood on her hand. She was covered in it, but this appeared to be actively trickling down her arm under her clothes - not spattered from an enemy. "Hey, are you hurt?"

She glanced to her hand and shrugged as her good one moved to cover a spot on her upper arm. Her duster, given that it was black, had been covering the fresh blood and injury well enough for him not to notice. "I got bit."

He eyed her. "You wanna shut these doors so I can stitch you up? I don't need you bleeding out on me down here."

"It's not that bad," she insisted. "I know my limits, so, we can keep moving for now. I'll let you know if I need to stop."

"Yeah," he said, "please do. If you collapse, all the ghouls you've been dealing with up close are gonna swarm me."

She nodded, then led him out of the room, down a set of stairs, and lower still through a hole in the floor. From there, they handled more ghouls - Margo dealing with them up close, and MacCready sniping them from a distance, as agreed - and came across an elevator that took them even further down. Eventually, they came to a hallway that wrapped all the way around a square room, and a terminal was mounted on one of the walls. There were no other entrances, and no ghouls in the hall.

"I think this is it," MacCready muttered, rushing toward the terminal. "This has gotta be where they're keeping the cure!"

Margo grabbed his arm and stopped him. "Mac, listen to me for a sec." She waited for him to stop pulling toward the terminal and meet her eyes, and spoke once he did. "I know it's supposed to be here," she said, "but if it's not, we'll find something else. Another cure, or a doctor who can actually help, or something. Okay?"

He hadn't considered the possibility that Duncan's cure wasn't at Med-Tek, and that became obvious when he almost seemed to deflate. If it wasn't here, he had no idea what he was going to do. Nonetheless, the man made his way over to the terminal, put in another one of Sinclair's passcodes, and let the doors open.

What came out was nothing short of a nightmare.

Two ferals sprinted at Margo. She misjudged how quickly they were coming at her, and she was knocked to the ground. Her right arm held one at bay, and her left managed to draw a knife - which she buried in the neck of the other feral as it tried to tear into her shoulder. As she tried to get the knife free, the ghoul she'd been holding back managed to bite her neck.

She shrieked. Panicked. She had no idea how deep the feral's bite went, but she knew she wasn't gushing blood yet - which meant it had probably missed anything vital. As the ghoul pulled back to bite her again, she managed to grab one of her pistols and shoot it in the head.

She quickly shoved the ghoul off and cried, "MacCready!" as she scrambled to her feet. He gave no response, but she did hear him grunt, and when she spotted him, her blood ran cold.

A Glowing One was on top of him, and his rifle was out of reach. MacCready's eyes were wide with fear, and though he was trying to fight it off, his movements were frantic and uncoordinated. He was panicking, and the feral was quickly overpowering him.

Margo grabbed her own rifle and lined up a series of shots on the glowing one. One in the head, but when that didn't immediately take it down, she moved to its neck in hopes of paralyzing it, which succeeded in getting its attention but failed to bring it down. She paled and moved to reload as it got off of MacCready and started toward her. Another shot to the head.

MacCready was on his feet again, rifle in hand, and his shot was the one that killed it. He was still shaken, as was Margo, but the two only shared a glance before hurrying into the room.

Fridges filled with bones lined the walls, and bodies laid on the counters. Tables with handcuffs and clothes were scattered around, but MacCready didn't care about any of it. His eyes were on a single, bright red vial with the word "Prevent" on it, and he was so set on grabbing it that he almost didn't notice the soft _thud_ as Margo collapsed.


	5. Chapter 5

2287

"Help! We need a doctor!"

MacCready had Margo over his shoulder, and they were both covered in her blood. He knew Covenant was near Med-Tek, so when she'd collapsed and had suddenly started gushing blood from her neck, that was where he carried her - after stopping the bleeding as best as he could. God, he wished he could just use a stimpak on her.

The man outside the gate spotted the pair and quickly gestured toward the entrance, calling out to the people inside the settlement, "Hey! Open the gate! Get the doctor! This lady's hurt real bad!"

MacCready gave the man a quick, relieved nod as he was ushered into the settlement and led to the infirmary. He laid Margo down on one of the cots and tossed their bags underneath it. He knew she probably wasn't getting enough oxygen, not with how tight he'd had to tie the fabric to stop the bleeding, but that would kill her a lot slower than bleeding out. Even though he'd had the wound wrapped, and a ton of pressure on it, blood still trickled from the wound on Margo's neck.

Within minutes, a woman with shoulder-length dark brown hair hurried in, clad in a lab coat. Her eyes immediately locked onto Margo, and she grabbed several items, including stimpaks, before hurrying over. She grabbed one of the stims and opened it, preparing to inject Margo.

"You can't use those!" MacCready exclaimed frantically, moving a hand to shield the woman. "She's allergic to something in them!"

The woman paused, then huffed and quickly grabbed bag. "Guess we're doing this the old fashioned way then. You wanna tell me what happened?" As she spoke, she prepared bandages, scissors, and a needle and thread.

MacCready watched the woman pull back the cloth around Margo's neck, and fortunately, it no longer gushed blood. She was bleeding steadily, but not nearly as quickly as she had been. "Ghouls," he said. "One bit her, and she was fine at first, but I think it damaged an artery or something and she ripped it moving around."

"Not an artery," the doctor muttered. She grabbed some whiskey, soaked a rag with it, and dabbed it around the wound. "It's the jugular vein. Not necessarily lethal, but with how much blood it looks like she's lost, she's on thin ice. I can stitch it up right now and we can keep her here for maybe a week or so, and then you two have to find somewhere else to go."

"A week? Is she even going to be able to manage at that point?"

"She should be fine," the woman replied, having moved on to stitching the artery, then Margo's neck where it was needed. "I'm going to clean her up, so you should step out."

MacCready hesitated, but gave a nod and grabbed their bags before going back outside. He let out a sigh and removed his hat, then raked his hands through his hair. Margo was hurt because of _him_. He'd agreed to let her help at Med-Tek. He'd been too afraid to handle it on his own. He could have found someone else - _anyone_ else - someone who was more of an asshole. Someone who deserved to die more than she did. He'd barely known her a few weeks, but it was obvious that she was a good, decent person. Why did he-

"Hey," a voice brought him out of his thoughts, "is she gonna be okay?"

He looked to the voice's owner, the man from outside the gate. "Uh, yeah," he replied, "I think so. The doctor's stitching the wound and cleaning her up."

The man gave a nod and rubbed the back of his neck. "You look like you could use some cleaning up, too. Tell you what, I've got a shower at my place and I can lend you some extra clothes while my wife washes the ones you've got. Sound good?"

He wasn't one to accept that kind of generosity. It usually came with strings attached. But, the man was right. He was covered in blood - mostly Margo's - and he needed a shower. "That'd be great, thanks."

The man smiled and led MacCready to one of the homes, introduced himself as Rick, and set him up in the bathroom with a loose shirt and a pair of brown pants. MacCready allowed the man to take his clothes to wash them, but he made sure to keep his and Margo's duffel bags with him. No way in hell was he going to run the risk of Duncan's cure being stolen, not after the hell they went through to get it.

Once he was clean and clothed again, MacCready made his way back downstairs. He felt naked without his hat, which was off being cleaned with the rest of his clothes, but it was better than wearing it dirty. The stairs left him in a living area, and looked around in search of either Rick or his wife; while he wanted to return to Margo, it didn't feel right to leave without thanking them for their hospitality, especially if his companion was going to live.

"Rick, is that you?" a female voice chirped from the kitchen.

"Uh," MacCready made his way toward the room. "I'm looking for Rick, actually. Is he around?"

The woman paused when she didn't recognize the voice, but turned to face him with a smile. "Oh! You must be the one who came in with that woman earlier. Did you enjoy the shower?"

He gave her a smile in return, though his was small and awkward. Margo wasn't his wife, but he didn't feel the need to correct this woman. Not yet. "I did, thanks." He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, lingering in the doorway to the kitchen. "I just wanted to say thank you for the hospitality before I went back to the infirmary. Didn't wanna bail without saying anything, y'know?" He also knew that if Margo woke up alone, with someone in a lab coat, she just might lose her shit.

"It's no problem," the woman replied. "Rick checked in with Doctor Montgomery, by the way, and she said your wife's going to be okay as long as she doesn't re-open her wound." She pursed her lips. "By the way, what'd you say your name was? I think Rick forgot to mention it."

"I never gave it to him," he admitted. "There was a lot going on, but, my name's Joseph." Very few people knew his middle name, and not one of them lived in the Commonwealth. He figured it was better than giving them the name MacCready, though, and risking them realizing he was a former Gunner, or a dangerous mercenary.

"I'm Mary," she replied, then blinked. "Oh, I don't mean to keep you. You go on over back to the infirmary, and we can bring you some dinner shortly if you like. I'm making stew."

He blinked in surprise, but gave a nod. "Thanks, Mary. I'd appreciate it."

Doctor Montgomery had stepped out by the time MacCready returned. He took a seat next to Margo, who'd been changed into a green dress. She was clean, and her clothes had presumably been sent out with his to be washed. Her hands rested on her stomach, and she was still unconscious.

MacCready let out a sigh, and rested his face in his hands. Now that things had calmed down, his guilt was returning. Margo shouldn't have been the one to get hurt, especially since she'd put her personal business aside to help him. He was her employee, and he'd drug her into Med-Tek. Her blood was on his hands. If he hadn't been in such a hurry to open the doors, or if he'd given her half a second to prepare for a possible threat from the room, or if he hadn't panicked when the glowing one had attacked him, maybe she wouldn't have gotten hurt.

He felt a hand touch his knee. It was light, but warm, and when he raised his head he saw Margo giving him a small smile. "Hey," she croaked, "you got the cure right?"

"You could have died," he snapped, "and you're worried about the fuc- freaking cure?"

Margo frowned and drew her hand back. "Well, if it's a crime for caring about a kid's life, then we'll just say I want to know if I wasted all that effort just for you to leave it behind."

He faltered, then sighed. "I got the cure."

"Good." She looked back to the ceiling and allowed her eyes to drift shut again. "So Duncan's gonna be okay."

He scowled. "Margo, you should be worried about yourself - not my kid."

"I'm going to be fine," she muttered. "Besides, helping a sick kid is more important."

"You don't even _have_ kids," he scoffed. "You have no idea how important they are to their parents, but it doesn't change that you almost died back there."

Margo flinched. "Believe me, MacCready," she said, "I know _exactly _how important they are." Her voice was barely above a whisper, and it shook just enough to tip him off that his comment had bothered her.

His stomach dropped. He'd been so frustrated with the fact that she'd been hurt helping him, that he'd run his mouth thinking he knew what he was talking about. "You have a kid?"

She stayed quiet before muttering, "Had."

He faltered. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't know."

She turned her back to him. "You couldn't have known. Nobody else does."

He stayed quiet for a moment. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

She was quiet as well before speaking again. "We had a place in Sanctuary City, and Dawn had other toddlers her age to play with. She loved playing with this family's kid down the street; really nice people, and I got to be good friends with the mom." The woman let out a sigh and turned to lay on her back again. "How long have you been in the Commonwealth?"

"A few years, maybe." He furrowed his brow. "Why?"

"You remember the attack on Sanctuary last year?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Wasn't it a group of raiders or something? Burned down like half the city?"

Margo nodded. "Dawn was almost two. And they killed her. Right in front of me."

MacCready watched her for a moment before taking her hand in his. He said nothing, but hoped the gesture brought her some comfort.

Margo squeezed his hand in return. "I didn't have my weapons on me, because we all thought the settlement was safe, and if anything attacked the guards could handle it." She paused and took a shaky breath. "If I'd been quicker to grab her when they stormed the house, or if I'd been smart and at least had a pistol on me-"

"Stop," MacCready interrupted. "Don't do that. This is _not_ your fault." He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. "The city was supposed to be safe. You're not at fault for thinking that's exactly what it was." He let out a sigh and used his free hand to brush some of her hair out of her face. "Look, you've had a long day. You should get some rest."

She shook her head. "I need to know where we are."

"Covenant. It was the nearest place with a doctor. They said you can stay for a week, and that you should be fine by then."

"_I_ can stay a week?" Her eyes flicked to MacCready. "What about you? Are you leaving for D.C.?"

He blinked, then shook his head. "No, of course not. I'm staying with you until you've recovered, since this is all my fault, and if you need more rest after we have to go, we'll go back to the boathouse." He paused, then gave her a sheepish grin. "By the way, the people here think we're married. I didn't bother to correct them. I also gave them my middle name, Joseph, as an alias, so they don't connect me to the Gunners or recognize me as a mercenary."

She was relieved when explained he planned to stay. She didn't want to say it, but being injured and surrounded by strangers wasn't a situation she wanted to be in, at least not alone. She felt too vulnerable. Nonetheless, she smiled and shook her head in response to him. "Well, with the way you've been holding my hand, I'm sure they believe it."

He quickly pulled back. "Y-you looked like you needed some support. I didn't wanna hug you because I didn't wanna pull your stitches or hurt you or-"

"Mac," she said with a laugh, "I know what you were doing, and I appreciate it. I'm just teasing."

He huffed. "I know. I just wanted to make sure we're on the same page here."

A knock on the doorframe drew their attention, and MacCready offered a smile to Mary as she brought in a bowl. The woman paused when she saw that Margo was awake, her brows raising in surprise. "Oh! I didn't realize you were awake, dear." Her eyes flicked to MacCready. "I brought that strew, but, I can go back for another bowl.

MacCready stood and took the bowl from Mary, shaking his head. "I'll just give this one to Margo and come get my own in a minute, if that's okay."

She gave a nod. "I'll walk you over as soon as you're done here." Her gaze shifted to Margo, who'd sat up in the bed. "We're glad you're okay, dear. You gave Rick quite a scare when Joseph brought you in, being half-dead and all."

Margo forced a small smile. She had no idea who Rick was, but she figured it wouldn't hurt to be polite. "I didn't mean to. Guess I just got a little clumsy with the ferals."

MacCready cleared his throat and passed the bowl of stew to Margo. "Here, _honey_. I'm gonna go grab some food."

She nodded a thanks and took the bowl rather quickly, immediately digging in. MacCready eyed her for a moment before he and Mary made their way back to her house. Upon entering, the young woman gestured to a bag on the coffee table. "Your clothes are done, by the way. Margo's are in there too." She took a seat at the dining table across from Rick, who gave MacCready a nod, then gestured toward the kitchen. "Help yourself to the stew."

He nodded a thanks and grabbed the bag, then made his way to the kitchen to grab a bowl. Once he had his food, he excused himself and made his way back to the infirmary, where he found Margo still eating. He set the bag of clothes at the foot of the bed and took his seat next to her, stirring his stew thoughtfully.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Margo asked, watching him curiously.

MacCready glanced to her, then sighed. "Two things. Can I ask you something personal?" When she nodded, he rubbed the back of his neck. "What's your plan after you find Hayes? Are you moving back to Sanctuary with Dawn's father?"

The woman paused, then set the now-empty bowl on the table next to her bed. "When we escaped the vault, after everyone went their separate ways, I went through a really rough patch," she explained. "Lots of alcohol and chems, and a lot of men. I know who her father is, but he's violent. I didn't mess with him for long, and I left before either of us knew I was pregnant. Never spoke to him after."

He nodded in understanding. The mention of chems reminded him of her pause with the psychojet, and he realized he'd been right about her past addiction.

"You said there were two things?" she prompted.

"Oh, right." He leaned back in his seat. "I don't like this place. I think we should leave when we're able."

Margo nodded in agreement. "It's creepy. Everyone's too nice. I feel like it's one of those faux-utopian towns that have some fucked up stuff going on behind closed doors."

"Exactly. Back to the boathouse, then?"

"Back to the boathouse."


	6. Chapter 6

2287

"The first place we're gonna come across is The Republic of Dave," MacCready said. "It's the most northeast settlement in Capital Wasteland."

Margo stifled a laugh and looked up to him. Despite the fact that he was rather short, he still had a few inches on her. "Sorry, but what kind of name is that?"

He smiled and shook his head, his eyes focused on the road ahead of them. "Don't ask me; I think it's a dumb name too."

The two had left Covenant within days of Margo's injury, taken a few more days to ensure she'd adequately recovered at the boathouse, then quickly made their way out of the Commonwealth. Being that they were heading southwest, MacCready ensured they kept their distance from the Glowing Sea. As they walked, the sun angrily beat down on them, as if it were trying to cook them alive, and the sky was clear except for a few scattered clouds.

"So how long did you say this trip's going to be?" Margo asked as she wiped sweat from her brow. She'd stuffed her duster in her bag with the cure hours ago, which left her in her usual crop top and shorts.

MacCready shrugged. "Two or three weeks total, unless something goes wrong," he said. "And we've been on the road for a week now, so we're probably about halfway there."

She nodded and pulled some dried tarberries from her bag to munch on as they walked. "Well, I can walk for longer periods of time, but I definitely need to make sure I get enough sleep."

"Yeah, what's up with that?" MacCready asked. "You sleep like, ten hours a night, and you eat huge portions." He paused and glanced to the berries in her hand. "And you're always snacking, if you're not eating a meal."

"Are you calling me fat?" She asked, her face flushing.

He huffed and gestured to her body. "You're _not_ fat, Margo. I mean, yeah, you've got some nice curves, but you're still thin by a long shot."

A smirk formed on her lips. "So you're saying I have a nice body," she teased, wrapping an arm around his abdomen.

MacCready's face flushed as well, and he huffed again as he crossed his arms. "I'm _done_ with this conversation."

Margo giggled and pulled back to give his arm a nudge. "I'm just messing with you. I sleep and eat so much because of what the vault did to me. Basically, I got some enhancements, but it makes my body use more energy and it makes me need more sleep."

He glowered, and didn't look to Margo again, but he did question her further. "What kind of enhancements? Are we talking like, speed and strength, or super mutant stuff?"

She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I think there's F.E.V. in whatever they gave me, honestly. The vault solved our pain threshold problems years ago, so, I don't really feel pain – at least, not the way you do."

He blinked and looked to Margo. "You're kidding."

She shook her head. "I thought it was weird until I read Doctor Gibson's terminal entries. I don't know when they figured out how to get rid of pain thresholds, but they did. People with Virion F19 – that's what it was called – also have aggression issues, usually. We're stronger and faster than most people, too."

"Well, I can see why you think there's F.E.V. in there," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, are you going to turn into a mutant?" The question was half-sincere. He'd meant it as a joke, but based on what she'd said, it sounded like a possibility.

Margo shrugged. "I have no idea. It's all really experimental, but I don't think they had anyone turn before the revolt, so I think I'm safe."

He nodded and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "So, you don't really feel pain, you're stronger, faster. What else?"

She paused and pursed her lips. "My senses are stronger. Smell, hearing, that stuff. My body's more durable and heals faster, my brain functions a little faster, my immune system is better." She paused again as she rubbed the spot on her neck. "They're all only minor enhancements, individually, but it makes a difference in a fight."

He nodded in understanding and mulled that over. Based on what he'd seen, her explanation made a lot of sense. That explained why she'd been able to keep Med-Tek's ghouls at bay for as long as she had, and why she'd been able to take a beating from a courser. "So what would happen if I stabbed you?" he asked. "Hypothetically, of course."

"The same thing that'd happen to you," she answered. "It wouldn't hurt as bad, which isn't good because pain is an easy way to tell when you need to get out of a fight, so if I don't pay attention I could bleed out before I realize I'm in trouble."

"So, you actively have to pay attention to your wounds," he mused. After a moment, his gaze shifted to her. "I thought you said your body was more durable?"

"My bones are," she replied. "They're harder to break. If someone wanted to put the effort into breaking one of my fingers, it's still doable, it'd just take more force."

"And your immune system? You said it was stronger too, right?"

She nodded and rubbed the spot on her neck, worry creasing her forehead. "Yeah. They injected me with the disease Duncan has to test it."

MacCready paused and looked to her. "The one with the blue boils? Did they even know if you'd survive?"

She scoffed and kicked a small rock, sending it rolling ahead. "Of course not. If we died, then we died. They didn't care. When I was recruited to staff, they told me I'd be kept on observational duties for at least ten years - so that anyone I knew aged out, and I wouldn't be attached to any of the other kids. That's how it worked."

He furrowed his brow. "So how'd the revolt happen?"

"Long story short?" She sighed and tucked her hands into her pocket. "Another recruit, Washington, slipped the kids some papers with details on graduation. Rohit, a boy I'd dated before being recruited, found them and showed them to his friend, James. They planned the whole thing."

"Huh. Smart kids." MacCready let out a sigh, then paused and grabbed Margo's arm. He pointed to something moving in the distance, moving between buildings in an upcoming town. "You see that?"

Margo's eyes narrowed, and she drew her rifle. "Yeah, but I can't see what it is. Looks like it's alone, though. You wanna go around, or fight our way through?"

"I don't think we need to go around, if it's just one of whatever it is." He removed his rifle from his back as well, but looked down the scope rather than holding it like Margo. He paused, then let out a groan. "It's a mutant. I don't see any more, though."

She pursed her lips, then resumed walking. "We can handle one mutant. Dunno why it's alone, but they aren't smart enough to lay traps are they?"

MacCready shook his head and trailed after her. "No, at least they weren't the last time I was here. They sometimes kidnap people to turn them, though, so they're smarter than the ones in the Commonwealth." As they neared the mutant, he aimed, and fired a few shots to take the creature down. His companion simply watched, given that he was the better shot from this distance.

The mutant fell, and the pair made their way into the town, scanning their surroundings as they went. Mutants rarely traveled alone, and they knew others could be nearby. Eventually, they cut through a building with crumbling walls, given that most of the roads were blocked off by cars, blockades, and debris.

"Hey, be quiet for a minute," Margo muttered, holding her arm out to stop MacCready from going any further. He furrowed his brow, but did as he was told, and after listening for a moment, Margo shoved him through a busted window and dove after him, just as a bomb went off inside. She rolled off him as gunfire broke out, and the two scrambled to hide behind another nearby wall.

"My _rifle_!" MacCready hissed once they'd gotten behind one of the walls. "It's gone!"

She paled and quickly passed him her own. "It's not the same, but you'll have to make it work." She drew a pistol instead, and peeked through one of the windows in an attempt to get a look at their enemy. She saw a large green figure, but it immediately started shooting and she ducked down again before she got hit. "Mutants," she whispered. "Seems like they want us dead though, not to turn us, which is good, right?" She paused, then glanced to him. "Listen, if we get caught, you should run. Get help, and come back for me."

"What?" He scoffed. "Margo, don't talk like that. I'm not gonna leave you."

She scowled. "You have to get Duncan that cure. We put too much work in for you not to do that, at least. Besides, I've got some exposure to F.E.V., and my chances of tolerating it are a lot higher than yours are."

He scowled. She had a point; if either of them could make it through being turned, it was probably her. And he _did_ need to get the cure to Duncan. He watched as she peeked through the window again, then ducked down when the mutants started firing again. "I need to find a better vantage point if we're going to take any of these guys down. I'll radio you when I find it, and let you know how many I can see." He paused, then passed Margo the Prevent he'd been carrying. "If I don't make it out of here, you need to get this to Duncan. Our farm's a little west of Megaton."

Margo faltered, but took the cure. "MacCready, we're going to be fine. Don't talk like that." She paused, then gestured to a small radio on her belt. "I'll wait to hear from you."

He gave her a wry smile, then scurried over a pile of debris in search of a good place to shoot from.

She stuffed the cure into the duffel bag on her back, then turned the radio up as she moved to a nearby building, which provided both shelter and a line of sight toward the mutants attacking them. Rather than firing, she waited for MacCready to contact her.

Several minutes passed before she heard static, then, "_Margo?"_

She breathed a sigh of relief and responded, "You okay?"

"_Yeah, I'm fine. There's a building with a few floors intact, so I got up as high as I could." _He paused. "_It's not looking good."_

She bit her lip. "How bad?"

"_I see five. I think there's one more, but he hasn't moved to a spot I can spot him in. And before you ask, I don't see an escape route. A lot of the streets are blocked off, and we can't just go back the way we came because they'll be able to gun us down." _He stalled for a moment. "_This was a trap. They wanted us to think we were safe because we killed the mutant on the outskirts of the city."_

Margo sighed and rubbed the spot on her neck. "Do you see your rifle, Mac?"

"_In the street, where you pushed me through the window."_ He paused again. "_Margo, don't even think about going for it."_

"Can you cover me if I do?"

"_Not if all six start shooting, I can't. I said I was the best shot in the commonwealth - not a miracle worker."_

"Well," she muttered, "you'll have to do your best."

"_Margo-"_

She turned the radio down again and moved back to her previous spot. The woman peeked out the window, which prompted more shooting, but it stopped after a single gunshot rang out - which meant MacCready had shot the mutant firing at her. Margo took the chance to dive out of the window again, scurry over to the rifle, and throw herself back through the window she'd shoved MacCready out of. She turned the radio up again to ask, "Did you kill it?"

"_Yeah, I got him. You're lucky the others were too distracted by his brains being blown out to notice you out in the open like that."_

"You're the best, Mac," she said with a smile. "I'm going to try and take a few down from here. You can manage to kill a couple more, right?"

"_Shut up. You know I can."_ A pause. "_Be careful, and watch out for Centaurs. They hang around mutants."_

"I have no idea what that is, but I'm sure I'll know it when I see it." She turned the radio down again, and slipped up to the second floor of the building she was in. Between the two of them, taking care of the mutants from a distance wasn't a difficult task. They dispatched two more, and blocking off the roads meant the hulking green beasts only had one way to move too - which made them easy targets when two more tried to rush forward.

Margo paused to radio MacCready. "One more, right?"

"_Yeah, I think so. It's only-"_ He stopped, and Margo heard him cry out.

She paled, and frantically tried to radio him. "MacCready?!" She paused to wait for a response, and when she heard nothing, she made another attempt to contact him. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

Nearly two minutes passed before he responded.

"_I'm fine,"_ he gasped. "_A centaur snuck up on me, but I'll live."_

She sighed in relief. "Are you sure?"

"_I'm sure, Margo."_ He paused, laughed, then spoke again, "_Careful, you almost sound worried about me."_

She rolled her eyes. "Take a minute to bandage yourself. I'm going after the last mutant."

"_Whatever you say, boss."_

She descended the stairs and moved out into the street, carefully navigating her way toward the building the mutants had been shooting from. She stayed vigilant, both watching and listening for traps or bombs, and keeping an eye out for the last mutant. As she neared the building, she felt the ground rumble.

Before she had time to react, the last remaining mutant rushed out of an alleyway and grabbed her, throwing her into one of the walls.

Margo gasped for air when the impact stole her breath. Before she could figure out what was going on, the mutant was on her again. She was in its hand, and it was pulling back to slam her into the wall once more.

A gunshot rang out, and the mutant paused. Another gunshot, and Margo felt the mutant jolt. He'd been hit.

It dropped her, and she crumpled to the ground as the mutant made its way toward MacCready's vantage point. She barely heard the last two shots, but sometime after, MacCready was kneeling in front of her.

"Come on, Margo," he urged as he tapped her cheek. "Wake up."

She reached up and grabbed his hand to keep him from tapping her again, and attempted to sit up, but MacCready guided her to lean against a nearby car instead.

Margo let out a sigh and leaned her head against the vehicle. "Did we get them all?" she asked.

MacCready nodded. "We got 'em all." He paused. "Can you stand? We shouldn't hang around here much longer."

She held up a finger. "Hold on. I need a minute."

"Another concussion?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm just a little disoriented." Her eyes flicked to his left arm, where the green of his shirt was stained red with blood. She reached up to touch his arm, her hand resting just below the wound. "You sure you're okay, Mac?"

He nodded and rested a hand over hers, mostly to keep her from moving her hand up any higher. "I'm okay. One of the tentacles got me is all." He fell silent as she regained her bearings, then helped the woman to her feet, and the two rushed out of the city. Later that evening, they set up camp, and Margo opened up her bag to get her duster as the temperature dropped. She paused when she saw the inside.

"MacCready," she whispered, "get over here."

The man's brows knitted together, but he did as he was told, and stopped when he saw the bag. Inside, the vial of Prevent was broken open - and the cure was all over Margo's belongings. The two sat in silence for several moments, and Margo was the first to speak, though her voice was barely a whisper.

"It must have busted when the mutant slammed me into that wall."

MacCready said nothing. His mind swirled with a mix of thoughts and emotions. Anger, because he'd given her the vial to begin with. Fear, because without the cure, Duncan could die. Hopelessness, because he had no idea what else to do.

"MacCready?"

He looked to her, and anger won out over the other emotions. "What did you _do_?"

"What did _I_ do?" Margo scoffed. "You're kidding, right?"

"_You_ had the vial!" MacCready bellowed. "It was your responsibility!"

"How was I supposed to know a freaking _super mutant_ would rush me and slam me into a wall?!" She gaped at him. "Are you seriously blaming me for this?"

"Well, if you'd payed attention-"

"You didn't notice that centaur come up behind you! Don't try and lecture me on paying attention; you were caught by surprise too!"

"_I_ didn't have the _only_ thing that could have cured Duncan!" He stood abruptly and kicked the kettle they'd been using into the fire. "God _damn _it!"

Margo glowered at her companion. In her mind, the cure being ruined was an accident. She'd been caught off guard, because she was focused on where she _thought_ the mutant was. It was a mistake, yes, but not one she'd intended to make.

The woman sighed and rested her face in her hands. Her mistake had resulted in Duncan's cure being destroyed. Of course MacCready was angry. He was probably worried about losing his son - the same way she'd lost her child. She couldn't be angry with him for that, but she _could_ offer an alternative.

Her gaze shifted back to MacCready. He was sitting on a semi-flat boulder, his face in his hands. She couldn't be sure, but it looked like his shoulders were shaking.

"MacCready."

He lifted his face to glare at her. "Do _not_ talk to me right now." His eyes were red and wet, and his cheeks were damp too.

She hesitated, then moved to crouch in front of him. "Hear me out. I think there might be another way."

"There _is_ no other way, Margo!" He gaped at her. "Are you serious right now?"

"Mac, _please_," she croaked, resting her hands on his knees. "I'm serious."

He eyed her for a moment, then huffed and gestured to her. "Fine. Whatever."

"Hayes-"

"I'm not _fucking _worried about finding Hayes!"

"Just shut up and listen!" she snapped. He fell silent, though he still glowered, and she continued. "Hayes might have Virion F19 on him. If we can get a vial, it might give Duncan's immune system the boost it needs to fight the disease off." She hesitated, then squeezed his knee. "It might not work," she admitted, "but I think it's worth a shot."

He eyed her for several moments before speaking. "You think it'll work?"

"Like I said, I don't know," she said, "but I do think it's the best chance he has now."


	7. Chapter 7

Warning:

Rape is insinuated in this chapter, when Margo is talking about the attack on Sanctuary City. If you don't want to see it, please skip over it.

* * *

MacCready and Margo had spoken very little in the week since Duncan's cure had been destroyed. She still maintained that it wasn't her fault, but she understood why he was so upset. She knew what it was like to lose a child, and she wouldn't wish it on her worst enemy, let alone someone like MacCready.

They'd decided to visit MacCready's farm before resuming the search for Hayes. Both of them were tired, and MacCready wanted to see Duncan given that it had been over two years since he'd been in Capital Wasteland. Margo didn't argue; she knew she could use a good rest, and she wasn't about to get in the way of MacCready seeing his son. She was curious, however, as to how the boy had survived the disease so long.

"We're almost there," MacCready mumbled.

She nodded and stepped up next to him. She'd been trailing behind him and giving him his space, letting him lead the way up until this point. She opened her mouth to speak, but paused, then realized she didn't even know _what_ to say. She settled for giving his arm a gentle squeeze and, "We'll find a way to help him."

MacCready jerked his arm away and continued walking in silence. Margo let him, and she followed him up a road until he turned down an old driveway lined with pear trees on one side, and apples on the other; she could also see mutfruit in the distance, along with tatos, carrots, corn, and melons. Despite MacCready's absence, the plants were in good condition, meaning his friend had been tending the farm in addition to caring for Duncan.

The two entered the home quietly, and MacCready tossed his bag on a couch in the living room. "There's an empty room down the hall," he said. "It's the second to last door. Go make yourself comfortable. I'm going to go find Missy and let her know we're here."

She nodded, and quietly padded down the hall. The room he'd sent her to was a decent size, with a large bed, two nightstands, a dresser, and a desk. It was clean, and there was a bathroom attached that opened into another bedroom - presumably MacCready's. Margo let out a sigh and set her bag down, then removed her soiled duster and flopped onto the bed.

The door opened moments after she'd laid down, and clinging to the doorframe was a boy. Margo sat up ,and her eyes widened when she saw the condition he was in. Pale, sweaty, dark circles under his eyes, blue boils on his skin. The fact that he was clinging to the doorway made it obvious that he was struggling to stay on his feet, and tears were building in his eyes.

"Duncan?" Margo guessed. She got to her feet and made her way over to him - but paused when she saw him tense. "Hey, it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. I just wanna help you back to bed; you look like you're about to collapse."

Duncan eyed her for a moment. While he remained silent, he didn't stop her when she moved in to pick him up. He allowed her to carry him back to his bedroom, which he directed her to since she didn't know the house, and turned his back to her once he was in his own bed again. "Aren't you worried about getting sick?" He asked. "Missy says it's contagious."

Margo shook her head and pulled a nearby chair over so she could sit next to the bed. "No, sweetheart. I've had it before. I'm not going to get sick like that again."

The boy stayed silent.

"You thought I was your dad, didn't you?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "He's the only one who ever comes here. Are you one of his friends?"

It was Margo's turn to hesitate. _Were_ they still friends, or was MacCready simply sticking around to finish his job? She let out a sigh, and settled for, "I came here with your dad. He's out looking for Missy."

"Missy never comes inside this time of day," he replied. "She's not supposed to check on me for another hour." He paused again, then turned to face Margo. He moved slowly, as if he were sore. "You said my dad's here?"

Margo offered him a smile. She knew exactly how bad he was hurting; flu-like symptoms were one of the tell-tale signs of the disease, and the general aches were made worse by the frequent vomiting and the boils. "He is, but he'll probably want you to stay in bed until he gets back."

"I wanna see him," Duncan stated as he moved to sit up again.

"Hey, easy," Margo muttered, putting a hand on the boy's chest. He winced, which meant she'd touched a boil, so she pulled back. "Look, I know you're excited, but you don't need to push yourself. He'll be here in a minute, okay?"

He deflated, much in the same way MacCready had when she pointed out that Med-Tek's cure may not be there, but the boy relented and laid back down. "What's your name, miss?"

"Margo," MacCready said from the doorway, a scowl plastered on his face. "What are you doing?"

She hesitated, then turned to face him. "He thought I was you and followed me to the bedroom. He looked like he was about to collapse, so I brought him back here and made him wait for you."

The mercenary watched her for a moment before jerking his thumb toward the hallway. "You should leave," he said coldly. "We'll talk later."

Margo watched him for a moment, then sighed and padded past MacCready and into the hallway. She watched him enter the room, give her a glare, and shut the door.

"You're Margo, right?" a female voice asked.

Her eyes flicked to the woman curiously. She was short and heavy-set, with red hair and freckles for days "Yeah," she replied. "I'm guessing you're Missy?"

"I am," she confirmed, gesturing for Margo to follow. "Come on. You can help me prep dinner."

She followed without objection. The hallway opened up to the living room, which is where MacCready had left his bag. There were two couches and an armchair, a coffee table, a couple end tables, and an old TV sitting on a console. Past the living room was the kitchen, which had a cut-out in the wall so you could see into it. The dining space was attached to it, and sported a table with six chairs. The home was in surprisingly good condition, and Margo was surprised that it was so well furnished. MacCready had put a lot of work into his home, it seemed, before having to leave.

The woman was pulling veggies and meat out of the fridge - which had electricity, she noticed - and moving them to the counter. "You know how to cook, right?"

Margo moved up next to the woman, watching her. "I can't cook to save my life, actually."

She laughed a bit and glanced to Margo. "Just do what I say and you'll be fine." She passed Margo a knife and a cutting board, then carrots. "Start cutting those. You want them to be small."

"W-well, how small?" She blinked in surprise. "And aren't you supposed to peel carrots?"

"As long as the dirt's gone, it's fine. And I washed them when I brought them in." She paused and pursed her lips. "I guess you want them to be about a centimeter on any side."

Margo hesitantly nodded, and set to work on chopping the carrots. After a few moments of silence, she asked, "What did MacCready say about me?"

"Not much," Missy admitted. "He said we can trust you, but that's about it." The woman paused, then glanced to her. "Did Robert cook all your food on the way here?

"He did," she replied, offering a sheepish smile. "We wouldn't have eaten much otherwise. The only thing I really know how to do is jerky, and tarberries"

"Tarberries?" Missy raised a brow. "What on earth can you manage to do with those?"

"Dry them, sweeten them." She shrugged. "They're a good, high-carb snack."

"Carbs?" She eyed her curiously. "Isn't that one of the things in food, like pro-teen or whatever?"

Margo offered another shy smile, having forgotten that most people no longer knew about the different things in their food. "Yeah."

"Huh." Missy shifted her attention back to the meat she'd been cutting, and fell silent.

She stayed quiet for a while. After finishing the carrots, she was given the rest of the meat to cut while Missy started on a broth.

"How has Duncan been?" she eventually asked.

She paused and glanced to Margo. "He has good days and bad days. All he can keep down is toast and broths most of the time, and things like bathing leave him exhausted. He sleeps constantly."

"I'm sure he's also depressed, being so sick and not having his family around."

"Sure is," Missy muttered. "Poor kid."

Margo nodded in agreement. "Is he getting worse?"

The woman paused. "Yes and no. We've been able to keep him from dying so far, but I don't know how much longer that boy's gonna last."

The two fell silent again, and once Missy tossed the veggies and meat in a pot to cook, Margo made her way back to her room. She traded her crop top for a t-shirt, as she didn't feel comfortable in her usual clothing with a child in the house, and made her way outside after grabbing her flash.

The sun was finally setting, and the sky had remained clear with the exception of a few stray clouds. Out back was a fire pit surrounded by chairs, a small patio with a couple benches, and a wooden playground. Given the condition it was in, it was only a few years old - which meant MacCready had probably built it for Duncan.

Margo took a seat on one of the benches. It had been a long time since she'd felt so guilty, over anything, and she wanted nothing more than a hit of psychobuff. Being that she'd had MacCready sell all the chems she'd gathered, and she was determined not to start using again, whiskey would have to do.

She had no idea how much time passed before MacCready came out with a couple bowls. The sun had set, and she'd drained her flask, but it could have been one hour or five for all she knew. She'd been lost in her thoughts the whole time, thinking about how Duncan's disease had affected her when she'd had it, and trying to figure out how she could have avoided being caught off guard by the mutant. She also wondered where she and MacCready stood. The fact that he'd brought her to his farm meant that he trusted her, but that didn't mean he didn't hate her for what had happened.

"You've been out here for almost three hours," he said, as he sat next to her and held out one of the bowls. "Been staring into space this whole time?"

She glanced to him, then sighed and took the bowl. "Yeah. Thanks for the food. Is Duncan asleep?"

He nodded, then fell silent for a moment. Eventually, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, Margo, it's not your fault about the cure. You were caught off guard, and you're right about the fact that I was too. It was an accident."

"An accident that could cost your son his life," she muttered.

"Don't go there." He stirred the food around in his bowl and sighed. "Look, you said whatever they injected you with let you fight off the disease. We're going to find Hayes, get a vial, and give it to Duncan. He'll be fine."

"You're trying to reassure yourself more than you are me," she stated. She'd been traveling with him long enough to know when he was worried or afraid, and this was one of those times.

"Is that a crime?"

"Of course not," she said, resting a hand on his knee.

He leaned back against the wall and let out a sigh. "He was so happy to see me."

"I know. He almost cried when he realized I wasn't you." The woman paused, then drew her hand back and smiled a bit. "He's mature for his age."

"Anyone would be if they'd been through what he's dealing with." He let his eyes drift shut. "I bet he would've loved to meet your daughter, Margo."

Her eyes saddened, but she nodded in agreement. "She would've loved to come out here and play." Margo paused, and she nodded toward the playground. "You built that, right?"

He glanced to it and smiled a bit before nodding. "Yeah. Duncan and I settled down here after Lucy passed, and I didn't know the first thing about dealing with a newborn." He paused, a small laugh escaping his lips. "Missy saw me in Megaton one day and realized I had no idea what I was doing, so she offered to help. Spent so much time out here that I eventually just gave her a room to stay in, and while she was helping with Duncan I worked the fields and found the time to make it. Figured he'd like it when he got older."

Margo smiled a little. "I'm sure he'll be all over it soon."

"I hope so." The man paused, then glanced to Margo. "Do you want another kid?"

She faltered. "I-I haven't thought about it," she mumbled. "MacCready, are you asking if I want to-"

"What?" He blanched. "O-oh, I, um, no. That's not what I meant. I just meant, if you find the right person, or if you settle down somewhere again-"

"Oh." An awkward silence settled between the two before she spoke again, albeit quickly, as if she wanted to hurry and finish what she was saying before she got emotional. "My daughter, Dawn, died in the raider attack on Sanctuary City last year. We thought it was safe, so I didn't have my weapon on me when they attacked, and they killed her right in front of me." She paused and rubbed the spot on her neck. "I mean, I guess I might be open to it later, but it's not something I want now."

MacCready hesitated. He'd heard of the attack, and he found it odd considering Sanctuary had once been well defended. The town was abandoned now, and no one had bothered to move in since. He rested a hand on her knee and gave a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry, Margo. I didn't mean to bring up-"

"I needed to tell someone anyways," she interrupted, stirring her stew.

He paused, then furrowed his brow and drew back. "How did you escape?"

She paused this time, and eventually cleared her throat. "They, um, left me."

"What do you-"

"MacCready, don't. I'm sure it's not hard to imagine why a bunch of men left me alive in the middle of an attack like that." She glanced to him, then tried to change the subject. "Where do you and I stand?"

He stayed quiet for a few moments before sighing. "You mean, are we okay?" He leaned against the back of the bench. "We're fine."

Margo nodded a little. "You don't want to go our separate ways or anything, then?"

"Why would you-" He stopped, then sighed. She'd started to wonder because of how he'd acted after the cure was destroyed. "We're okay, Margo. I want to get the F19, and deal with Hayes." He paused again, then a small smile formed on his lips. "You know, I'm starting to realize how much I missed having someone I can rely on."

She smiled as well, her hand moving to rub the spot on her neck. "Yeah, me too. How long's it been since you had someone like that?"

"Since Lucy. You?"

"Since I left the vault. There was this weird power struggle between me and Rohit's friend, James, and we eventually just split into two groups. Mine was pretty much wiped out, and the one survivor left me for dead. I haven't trusted anyone since."

"He just left you?" MacCready scoffed. "What an as- jerk."

"Well, I was beat up pretty bad, to be fair. And she wasn't going to survive if she tried to help me."

"Fair enough, I guess." He paused, then closed his eyes. "It's gonna suck when this job's done and we go our separate ways."

She glanced to him and shrugged, rubbing the spot on her neck. "I mean, I don't have anything keeping me in the Commonwealth. I could settle down in Megaton if I wanted, and see you and Duncan whenever."

He smiled and shook his head. "You don't need to do that. Not just for us." He glanced to her and furrowed his brow. "I noticed you rub that spot on your neck a lot. What's up with that?"

She let out a sigh. "You remember the little metal squares in the vault? They were near the entrance, and they were laying in blood."

"Yeah, vaguely, I guess."

"Well, they monitored everyone's vitals. A lot of the kids carved the chips out, but, I left mine in."

He blinked. "Why? I figured you'd want to get rid of anything to do with them."

"I have enough scars from the vault," she explained. "I'd rather keep it in than get another."

MacCready nodded in understanding. "I guess I can see your reasoning." The man paused, then shook his head. "Man, we didn't even eat this stew. Just sat here talking."

Margo laughed a bit. "It's fine. I wasn't that hungry anyways." She stood and held her hand out for his bowl. "I'm gonna head inside and get some sleep. I'll take your bowl in if you want."

"Sure, thanks." He passed the dish to her, and watched her move toward the door. As she opened it, he said, "Margo?"

She paused and looked to him. "Yeah?"

"Even if it takes me the rest of my life," he said, "I'll repay you for helping Duncan. I swear."

She stayed quiet for a moment, then smiled. "This is a friendship, MacCready, not a business contract. At least, it is in my eyes. You don't have to worry about repaying me."

He returned the smile. "Get some sleep."


	8. In Regards to the Delays

**Hey guys! I'm sorry for the long A/N here, but there is content at the end of this chapter! However, this announcement is important - so please give it a read! TL;DR is at the end of the note.**

First and foremost, thank you to all y'all. The amount of attention this story has gotten has blown my mind (we're nearing 1,300 views), and I really appreciate all the reviews y'all have given. It's really helped me stay motivated to write.

As y'all have probably noticed, this story hasn't been updated in a hot minute. It's been a month and a half since the last chapter was posted. For those of y'all who've been reading from the beginning, you're probably noticing that everything after chapter 8 is gone right now too. I'm sure there will be some annoyance (maybe even anger) with this decision, but I'm reworking the story following Margo's departure for the Institute.

My reasoning for this is pretty straightforward; while I've had the whole story outlined since about chapter 3 or 4, I'm realizing that it's not working the way I want, mostly with the story arc involving Xara (the woman MacCready left Davenport with, if y'all don't remember).

I've been encouraged to simply write her off, but at this point that's going to be nearly impossible. To do that, I'd have to push out a few more chapters with her in order to give her death any significance - and given that I can't bring myself to even finish _one_ chapter with her, over the course of a month and a half, I don't want to take that route. It's a lot of work and a like of time for an arc that I'm not enjoying and just isn't right.

She was also _only_ there to serve as a temporary fling for Mac, just to cause drama with Margo. Xara is a character I've put a lot of work into, and I've taken a lot of time developing her personality and backstory as an OC; I feel that throwing her into this story for the reasons I did is a waste of her potential, and while she'll make appearances in other stories, I think it's best that she doesn't appear in this - at least not in the same way she had before I decided to rework the story.

In other news, I want to announce that this story is only one part of the series! Some of y'all may have noticed that I have two other fics on my profile, both on hiatus for rewrites: Children of the Vault, and Snake Charmer. Children of the Vault will be a prequel to Beyond the Vault, focusing on the events that went down in Vault 75. It'll be shorter, maybe around ten chapters.

I also plan to write two more spin-offs. Alma Lancaster, one of the main characters in Children of the Vault, will be getting a spin-off set in 2287. I'm in the process of outlining it, but Beyond the Vault is my main focus at the moment.

The other spin-off I'm planning focuses on James. Those of y'all who read before I removed chapters 9-14 know him already, but for those of you who don't, he's also in Children of the Vault. In this, we'll get to see how he ended up in Davenport, Iowa and how he and Prim met. This story is in the pre-outlining stages, which for me really means that while I'm developing a plot, I'm not actually putting it on paper yet because I'm still working on the major plotpoints. It's a story I _want_ to tell, but I'm still working out _how_ to tell it.

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**TL;DR:**

Beyond the Vault's last 5 chapters are being cut due to the fact that I can't make them work as-is. Y'all will be getting rewrites, and they'll be coming soon! I know this is frustrating for current readers, but I'd rather be able to finish the story and enjoy it than not be able to put out any more chapters because of the stuff listed above.

I'm sorry for the trouble, but I think this is the best direction for the story right now. I hope y'all aren't too upset to stay tuned for the changes

For more updates, y'all can find me on Twitter Acallypha, or Tumblr under PiratesStoleMyMagicBeans. I post more regular updates there, and on Tumblr, I put out extra content like playlists for the main pairings! It's also the easiest way to contact me if y'all have questions, comments, concerns, etc.

Now that we've covered that, as an apology I've decided to put out the original confession scene between Margo and MacCready. This scene **is a draft** and was never intended to be the final version, and now that Xara has been cut it probably won't appear at all - but I do think it's a decent scene, and I loved writing it. I hope y'all will enjoy reading it!

For context, this follows Margo's rescue from the Institute, and MacCready's infiltrating the Enclave with Xara. Margo is safe, Duncan has been taken care of, and MacCready and Xara's no-strings-attached fling is continuing. They are now in Davenport after following Hayes to the area, and taking a night off to relax and celebrate what they've accomplished so far.

Again, I wanna make it clear that this scene will not be appearing like this in the story anymore, and this scene is a draft. By the time the story gets to this point, a lot of the context won't apply either.

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Davenport's single bar, Avalon, was busy as usual. Full of people, smoke, and noise. Nearly every person had a drink, and for once, that included Margo. MacCready sat next to her, and on the other side of him was Xara.

"Shut up," she giggled, giving MacCready a nudge.

"You know it's true!" He retorted.

Margo glanced at the two; she hadn't been paying attention to the conversation, but the giggling had caught her attention. Once she realized what was going on, she shifted her gaze back to her drink.

James, who sat between Margo and Prim, gave her a little nudge. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she muttered. "Just kinda tired."

He nodded and rested a hand on her back. "Want me to walk you back to the hotel?"

She shook her head and offered a small smile. "I'll be fine on my own. You celebrate. With Hayes gone, there's a lot to be happy about."

He raised a brow. "Yet you couldn't be more miserable." His eyes flicked to MacCready, and he breathed a sigh. "Look, if you decide you want to talk, all you have to do is ask. You know I'm here."

"Thank you, James." She offered him another forced smile, set a few caps on the bar to pay for her drink, and made her way out of the building.

James watched her go, then sighed and turned back to face Prim – who had a scowl on her face. Taken by surprise, he blinked. "What?"

"Something is wrong with her," she chided. "You should tell MacCready to go check on her."

He sighed and propped his chin in his hand. "Margo likes to be left alone when she's upset, Prim. Always has."

The girl crossed her arms. "Well, she needs to talk to someone. So, either you can tell MacCready, or I will."

James frowned, but relented and reached over to give MacCready a nudge. "Hey."

MacCready blinked in surprise and looked to James, as did Xara. "What's up?" He asked.

"Margo just left," he explained. "She's upset about something. You should go check on her."

His brows knitted together with concern. "Yeah, sure, just tell me where she's heading."

"Back to the hotel."

The mercenary gave a nod, excused himself from his conversation with Xara, and quickly made his way out of the building. Following the road to the hotel quickly caught him up to Margo, and he was glad she hadn't made any detours. If she had, he might not have found her so easily.

"Margo!"

She paused and turned to look back at him, confusion on her face. Clearly, she hadn't expected him to follow. "Mac?"

As he neared, he found an unreadable expression on her face. Sadness, maybe? Anger? "I thought we were celebrating," he said once reaching her. "What gives? You left, and you're in a weird mood. Hayes is dead; we should be happy."

Margo shook her head. "I'm fine, MacCready," she assured him. "I'm just tired."

"You're not tired," he shot back. "You get way more cranky when you need sleep." He hesitated, then reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "Talk to me, Margo."

"It's nothing, Mac," Margo insisted. "I've just had a lot on my mind. You should go back to Xara's and eat; we've been busy all day and neither of us had time to."

"Wait," he paused and furrowed his brow, "is Xara the problem?"

Margo rolled her eyes. "Of course not, MacCready. You're allowed to sleep with whoever you want."

He shook his head. "No, I think that's exactly what it is. That's when you started acting moody around us."

"It's not Xara," she insisted, crossing her arms. "Can't you just accept that not all my problems are your business?"

He scoffed moved a little closer. "Not at all, Margo. We're friends. Talk to me."

She narrowed her eyes and looked up to him. "Not a chance. Go back to the bar before you piss me off."

MacCready scowled and crossed his arms as well. "This is exactly what I was talking about when I said you've been moody. Every little thing sets you off, and all I'm doing is trying to help, so stop acting like a damn child and tell me! I've still got to travel with you when we leave, and I don't want to deal with your mood swings all day, every day, until we get back to Capital Wasteland!"

"If I'm such a hassle," she spat, "then maybe you should find another employer!"

He blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by her words. "You don't mean that, Margo," he said slowly. "Please tell me you don't."

"Don't I?" She glared at him. The words hurt to say, though she knew they hurt him more. She hadn't meant to blurt them out, but they tumbled from her lips before she'd been able to stop them. After a moment, Margo breathed a sigh and averted her gaze. "Look, MacCready, just go."

"Margo-"

"Go, MacCready!" She snapped. "That's an order!"

He scoffed. "Screw your order! I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me – and don't tell me it's nothing again, because I'm not stupid enough to believe it!"

She glared up at him again. His face was contorted with a mix of emotions: Anger, at the fact that she was really trying to get rid of him. Sadness. Hurt. Frustration. Confusion, because he couldn't figure out why. Surprise, because he hadn't seen this coming. Not in a million years. She knew that. To her, he was an open book.

MacCready took her silence as another opportunity to convince her to talk. "Margo," he said softly, "you need to tell me what's going on."

"I don't need to tell you anything, MacCready," she said. "Hiring you was a mistake; I should have never hunted you down in Goodneighbor, and I definitely shouldn't have gotten close to you." She hesitated, then took his hat off, allowing her hair to fall free for the first time in months, and held it out to him. "Take this and go. Hayes is dead, so the job I hired you for is done. There's no reason for us to keep traveling together."

MacCready gawked. Was she really sending him on his way? That stung, and his anger got the better of him. "Shut up," he growled, stepping forward. "You're being ridiculous, Margo, and it's pissing me off!" He continued moving closer, backing her up against the wall as he spoke. He pressed his hands to the wall on either side of her, effectively pinning her in place. "Tell me what the hell is going on, Margo! I know it's not nothing; you don't abandon people!" He looked to hear, tears brimming in his eyes. "You wouldn't abandon me. I know you wouldn't. We've been through too much for you to do that."

Margo, taken aback by his actions, remained silent. Tears welled in her eyes as well, and she looked away.

He scoffed and grabbed her chin, turning her face back toward him. "Margo!"

"She's not me!" She blurted.

They stood in silence, equally stunned by the words. Margo was shocked she'd said them; MacCready, while confused for a moment, was shocked by the implications. She had feelings for him. Strong ones, apparently, and she'd been keeping them to herself for what he assumed was some time now.

"She's not me," Margo repeated, lowering her gaze. "Xara. She's got you wrapped around her finger. You're with someone – and it's not me."

"Margo-" He breathed.

Her eyes jerked back up to his. "Is that what you wanted to hear, MacCready?" She demanded. "Are you satisfied? Are you glad I've humiliated myself and confessed that I have feelings to a man who's already taken?"


End file.
